“No, no,” Carson said as he stood up. “I said the front door and I meant it. You’ll go in chains, of course, like a normal person.” He saw Agatha’s expression. “Klaus uses convicts to work in the Castle. The troublesome Sparks and monsters that the Empire wants gone for one reason or another. It’s a death sentence for most of them, and considering the people Klaus sends in, I don’t think anyone weeps for them.
“But not everyone dies. Ostensibly they’re there to repair the Castle, and a number of them get interested in the work. There’s a system, with points awarded for dangerous work or good behavior and sometimes someone actually completes their sentence and gets out.”
The old man caught up a lantern and lit it from the coal of his pipe. He waved them all to follow him. He activated another hidden door and they again descended a long winding staircase. Carson continued, his voice echoing back up the stairwell.
“It used to be that the prisoners were sent in every morning and taken out to a barracks every night. The idea was to let people see the Baron’s justice at work or some such nonsense.
“Didn’t work, of course. It just brought a lot of bad characters into town. There was a whole slew of bookies and other low-level trash who’d whoop it up right outside the castle gates—taking bets on who’d come out that day and so on. It made the whole town look bad. We started to lose the higher class of business.
“We were looking into a way to get rid of them that wouldn’t have the Baron sending in the Questers when one day, without warning, the Baron himself suddenly had them all rounded up and marched into the Castle along with the prisoners.”
Carson’s grin could be seen in the darkness. “And none of them ever came out. Klaus never was very good at the subtle.” He fished a large key from his belt and unlocked a small unobtrusive gate. He held it open while they all entered, then locked it carefully behind them. They turned the corner into a wide, relatively well-lit hall that sank into the darkness. Carson started down and continued: “After that, the prisoners were housed inside the Castle. No more coming and going. But they still have to eat, so supplies are sent in twice a week. And whereas the supply crew is thoroughly scrutinized when they leave, nobody really expects anyone to try to get in, or particularly cares if they do.”
Zeetha nodded appreciatively. Agatha frowned. “But then, why are we down here? Surely the supply runs don’t start here in the Crypts?”
The old man’s snort of amusement wafted back. “No, we’re here because you need to be told what to do once you get into the Castle, and believe me, I wouldn’t do this for just anybody.”
A softly glowing mimmoth skittered across Agatha’s foot. She flinched but controlled herself. “You can’t tell us this information anywhere?”
“I don’t know it.”
The implications of this sank into the group. Krosp voiced the obvious conclusion: “And the person who does know, lives down here? That’s kind of creepy.”
Carson reached the bottom of the stairwell and turned to face them. “Not a person,” he said heavily. “Not alive.”
Krosp raised his paw. “Creepy?”
“Hell, yes.” The man grasped an iron escutcheon and gave it a twist. With a groan, a section of brickwork slid back and to the side, revealing another set of stairs, lined with upended crypts adorned with grinning skulls that, to no one’s surprise, turned to watch as they passed by. Carson waved a hand. “Don’t pay them any mind, you’re with me.” He paused. “I wouldn’t dawdle, though.” Everyone obligingly bunched up. Zeetha moved protectively to Agatha’s side.
Wooster cleared his throat nervously. “Um…We’re not going to meet some ancient undead Heterodyne vampyre or…or something. Are we?”
Carson spat. “Oh, and wouldn’t that be the perfect capper to my day.”
Wooster licked his lips. “That…actually that wasn’t a ‘ho ho, don’t be silly, old chap, there’s no such thing as vampyres down here.’”
“I ain’t being paid to lie to you, Brit.”
“You mean…”
“But that’s not who we’re looking for today.”
The spy hunched himself down a bit. “You mean there are days when you do go looking for…them?”
“Didn’t say they were good days.”
“Oh.”
Carson sighed. “Better than this, though.”
Wooster glared at the old man. “I am done talking to you.”
“I appreciate the effort, young fellow, but the day’s already a loss.”
“Aren’t they great, ladies and gentlemen?” Zeetha said brightly, “They’ll be here all week.”
Agatha gave a snort of amusement.
“What are we looking for?” Krosp demanded.
They reached the bottom of the stairs and Carson spun a wheel, which brought the lights up. “This. The throne of Faustus Heterodyne.”25
And indeed, what had at first appeared to be just a nest of dials and gears, was, if you looked at it correctly, a seat at the center of a tangle of cables and pipes that spread outwards every which way before burrowing into the walls, floors and ceiling.
Wooster let out a gust of breath. “There’s no one in it.”
The old man slowly removed his waistcoat. “Not yet,” he confirmed in a hollow voice. “That’s my job.”
“I see I’m never going to learn.”
Carson grinned and clapped him on the back. “Then you’ve learned something already.” He turned to Agatha, who was examining a large bank of controls with great interest, “Your pardon, my lady, but… if you could assist me in the warm-up sequence? I’m supposed to do it myself, but…”
For the first time Agatha noticed that the old man was showing his age. The long climb and the task ahead had clearly taken a toll on him.
“You sit down. I’ll take care of this.” She told him. When he began to protest, she raised her voice. “SIT!” Involuntarily, the old man sat. “Now you rest, and tell me what to do.”
A nearby chest contained oiled rags and tools, and soon enough, under the old man’s direction, Agatha had the others wiping and tightening connections while she ran through an impressive diagnostic sequence that, while it told her that the machines were functional, failed to provide her with any clue as to their purpose. Occasionally she became so intrigued by the machines that she began to drift into a Spark fugue, but these were always shortcircuited by Carson, who seemed to always know the right time to distract her.
Carson saw Krosp looking at him after the third instance and shrugged. “It’s a knack. You’ll pick it up if you live long enough.”
In a very short time, Agatha tightened a final screw and threw a large red lever. There was a faint crackling from within the depths of the device and with a groan, wheels began to turn and lights flickered on throughout the chamber. A faint whiff of ozone and burnt insulation began to fight with the smell of limestone. She turned to Carson. “I think that’s everything. Did I do it correctly?”
The old man took a last pull on his pipe, knocked it against a girder, and climbed to his feet. “I certainly hope so. I haven’t done this in a long time.”
“Why not?”
“Because it hurts,” the old man snapped. “A lot.”
Agatha looked distressed. Seeing her face, the old man’s expression softened slightly. “But mostly,” he admitted, “because, up until now, I hadn’t thought that any of the claimants that had wandered into Mechanicsburg had a chance of being a real Heterodyne.”
Agatha absorbed this. “So what is it we’re doing down here?”
“I’m going to let you talk to the Castle.”
“And that hurts you?”