As they moved down the central corridor, names came and went in the darkness. Names that Agatha recognized as the monsters of stories she had heard as a child. Stories that everyone had heard. She realized that she was torn between dread and a sort of twisted admiration. These were the monsters that had shaped the face and the history of Europa. Sometimes for the worse, and sometimes, though it had certainly not been their intent, for the better—if only because of the heroism that had arisen in order to confront them.
It was all summed up by the inscription over the tomb of Bludtharst Heterodyne, who had been responsible for the creation of the Storm King’s coalition: HE COULDN’T HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT ME. True enough, Agatha thought, although she suspected the Storm King might have appreciated having an option.
Wooster fished a watch from his waistcoat pocket, gave the back a half-twist that revealed a softly glowing compass, and frowned at it. “I seem to have gotten a bit turned around in all those tunnels,” he admitted. “We started at the Cathedral,24 but now we’re closer to the castle, yes?”
Carson nodded in approval. “Very good, Mister Wooster.”
Zeetha looked around and took a deep breath of the limestone-scented air. “Are all the Heterodynes here?”
Carson pulled an ivory pipe from his pocket and leaned against an ornate coffin. He plucked a clump of crumbly black moss from the stone surface, and tamped it into his pipe. “Well.” He thought about this as he pulled an elaborate silver lighter from another pocket and lit the pipe. “There are a few of them that are represented by only a few ashes or scraps of armor,” he conceded, “but aside from Master William and Master Barry, one way or another, the Heterodynes have always come home in the end.” He took a deep puff and released a savory cloud of faintly glowing green smoke. “A place has been reserved for them, for when they arrive.”
Agatha studied the man. “You’re convinced they will return,” she declared.
Carson hunched his shoulders and gave a faint smile. “In one form or another.” His teeth gleamed in the shadows.
Agatha stood tall. “And yet you say it’s impossible that I could be a Heterodyne. Even though…every…everything tells me that I am.”
The old man nodded amiably. “Oh, yes, I can see why. Punch and Judy, your effect upon the people of the town, not to mention Captain Vole’s reaction…” Another ruminative puff. “Still, whatever you are, you are not the heir everyone expects.”
“And why can’t I be?”
Carson looked at her and took the pipe from his mouth. He gestured towards her feet with the stem. “Because you’re standing on him.”
Agatha jumped and stared down. A tiny marble slab was set into the stone floor. The inscription was succinct:
KLAUS BARRY HETERODYNE
Beloved son of Lucrezia and William
With us but 407 days—
Forever in our hearts
Agatha had to move her foot to see the dates of birth and death.
Peering over her shoulder, Wooster’s breath caught. He looked up. “He died in the attack on Castle Heterodyne?”
Carson nodded.
Krosp’s tail twitched. “The name—”
He was cut short by Carson. “He was named Klaus at Master William’s insistence. It was done to honor his old friend who had vanished over two years previously.” The old man paused, “Two years and three months, to be technical about it.”
“Yes…” Ardsley said slowly, “I can see why you’d want to be clear about that.”
“I don’t,” said Agatha, “What am I missing?”
Carson looked at her and then looked away. Agatha blinked in puzzlement. The old man was embarrassed.
Zeetha merely chuckled infuriatingly.
Ardsley cleared his throat. “There were…rumors that before she married Bill Heterodyne, the Lady Lucrezia had…trouble deciding between him and Klaus Wulfenbach.”
“It was a well known fact around here,” Carson said tartly. “And the Lady Lucrezia was not one to be bound by…propriety or cultural mores, let us say. But luckily, for dynastic reasons, everyone was satisfied with the math.” He looked at Agatha expectantly.
The light dawned and Agatha flushed. “How did he die?”
“When the Other attacked Castle Heterodyne—”
“But why would she?” Agatha stopped short at a overly loud cough from Zeetha. There were very few people who knew that Agatha’s mother, Lucrezia, had been the Other. To most of the world, the Other was still a figure of mystery. Perhaps, Agatha thought, she should leave it that way for now. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she said to the old man. “Please. Tell me what you know of the attack.”
The old man took a long drag on his pipe and settled back on the slab. He closed his eyes and thought for a moment. Absent-mindedly he steepled his fingertips before his chest. When he spoke, his voice was firm and his wording concise. “I was not in the Castle on the night of the attack. Indeed, I was no longer seneschal. I had retired three days before and turned the duty over to my son.
“The Masters were away. The town of Huffnagle was being overrun by…hm…giant vegetables, as it turned out. I was enjoying the luxury of playing with my grandchildren.
“At eight-seventeen p.m., there was an earth tremor and a massive explosion rocked the town. It came from the Castle—so I left the children with their mother and went out to see what I could do…”
The town was in chaos. The Castle had been hit. Entire towers leaned drunkenly outwards. Flame roared from windows and as Carson watched, a section of the battlements collapsed, tumbling down the crags to the slopes below.
Flaming bits of the Castle had been blown throughout the entire town, and fires were breaking out all over. To make matters even worse, the automatic fire suppression systems were either malfunctioning or were slow to activate and the fires were growing everywhere he looked.
He saw a crowd gawping at a fountain of flame slowly spreading over the Rusty Trilobite, his favorite tavern.
“Grab some buckets,” he roared. People jumped at his voice and then ran to obey, as they had done for the last thirty years.
Carson continued: “Castle Heterodyne had a staff of two hundred and seven. Sixty-three died that night, including the new seneschal—my son.” He paused again, catching his breath as the old pain washed through him.
The Jägers were weeping. He’d never seen that before, even at the death of a Heterodyne. They lined the corridor, blood oozing from wounds they’d incurred clearing debris. He saw that a section of the ceiling had come down. The skeletal Herr Doktor Torsti arose from a crouch, his joints snapping in that unfortunate manner he had been so proud of, the eternal rictus of his mouth stretched into an unfamiliar expression of sadness.
As he drew near, Carson saw a crumpled figure that appeared to be trying to crawl from beneath the rubble. With a chill, he recognized the Coat of Office. He found he had dropped to his knees, and just when he thought it could not get any worse, he identified the pathetic bundle clutched in his son’s arms…
The old man raised his head proudly. “He died trying to protect the young master. Serving the House of Heterodyne to the end.”
Agatha realized that she was crying, silent tears running down her face. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “He must have been very brave. All of your family must have been so brave for so very long…” She took a deep breath and looked the old man in the eye. “Thank you.”
The old man blew out an embarrassed breath and stood up. “A ‘thank you’, is it?” He jammed his hands into his pockets. A moment later, he realized that the pipe he held was still lit and he pulled it back out of his pocket and waved it at Agatha impatiently. “Now I know you’re not a member of the family!” He looked away and after a moment continued: