“…I did that?”
“You totally did!”
Agatha shivered and carefully put the little device down on a table. “What about Tarvek?” She tried to keep her voice neutral but Moloch caught her mood.
“Violetta said that the two of you were afraid that there might be gangrene but neither one of you wanted to say it.”
Agatha swallowed. “I…yes.”
Moloch patted her on the shoulder. “Well, the good news is that I’ve seen gangrene and this ain’t it.”
Agatha felt something inside her relax slightly as she walked towards Tarvek, who lay still and prone. “What’s the bad news?”
Moloch raised the sheet covering him and Agatha gasped. Tarvek was still alive. He was panting and sweat poured off his body. He was a stunning shade of aquamarine.
Moloch shrugged. “He’s definitely got something and I hope you know what it is ’cause we sure don’t.”
At this moment, Violetta came back, carrying a full bucket of water. She put it down, grabbed a cup, filled it, and poked it at Tarvek’s mouth. “He’s been slipping in and out of consciousness for the last hour,” she reported. It was evident from the tone of her voice that she was worried, though she was trying not to show it.
Moloch nodded. “If you’re gonna get Wulfenbach, you’d better do it fast.”
Tarvek moaned.
Agatha leaned over him. “Tarvek?”
He opened his eyes and blearily tried to focus on her face. “Oh Agatha, I’m so sorry.”
Agatha paused. “…For what, specifically?”
“For everything! All that in Sturmhalten! I was so worried. I knew you wouldn’t trust me but the geisterdamen were everywhere and I had to—” He was really getting worked up now and Agatha gently but forcefully pushed him back down onto the tabletop.
“Stop it. You need to rest. I’m off to get Gil to help us, just like you wanted.”
Tarvek surged back up and gripped Agatha’s arms with a surprising strength. “No! Wait! I have to tell you! It’s important! I’ll never find anyone like you.”
Agatha felt her face go red. “Tarvek…”
“I have all sorts of ideas for the most exquisite outfits! You’ll be the envy of Paris!” Agatha blinked, then bent and planted a light kiss upon the top of his head. “Idiot. You’re raving.”
“You see?” Tarvek giggled as his eyes fluttered closed. “Oh, yes, it’s all part of the plan. You’re too perfect…” And he was again unconscious.
Violetta turned away. “Jeez. What a dope. What does she see in him?”
Moloch waved a hand dismissively. “Probably nothing. Now you want to see hot? Wait’ll she meets up with Wulfenbach.”
Violetta frowned. “Hey, don’t let fancy boy fool you. He may want to dress her up but he can be just as interested in undressing her.”
Moloch shrugged. “Yeah? Well, you haven’t seen Wulfenbach when he really loses it. He’ll have her over his shoulder thirty seconds after he sees her. Your boy won’t stand a chance.”
Violetta narrowed her eyes. “You think she’ll put up with that? You wait and see. Tarvek’s a pig but he’s great with the sweet talk.”
“Sweet talk, huh? You got me there. She gets Wulfenbach so worked up he can’t remember his own name. But he’s smart, he’ll learn.” He leaned in and dropped his voice. “’Specially since, when she punches, she puts her hips into it.”
Violetta grinned and leaned in herself. “Ouch,” she breathed in delight. “This should be good. Say…you wanna make a bet on who she’ll pick?”
Moloch assumed the air of a man possessed of a sure thing. “A bet? Might be interesting…but hey… she’s the Heterodyne. Maybe she’ll take them both.”
Violetta went pink at the idea. “Oh please, a boyfriend is an accessory. You don’t go around wearing two hats.”
“Oh yeah? I saw this Jägermonster—”
Hands like steel claws clamped down on both of their throats and lifted them bodily into the air. Agatha, her face scarlet, shook them like a terrier shaking a pair of rats. “WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU TWO?” she screamed. “ARE YOU TWELVE?” She flung them to the ground. “Boyfriends? Seriously? I’ve got more important things to worry about! The Baron wants me dead! An imposter is trying to take my place! Armies are trying to take over the town! The Castle is broken and the Other is still inside my head!
“Now, when all that is taken care of, we’ll have a great big fancy party and I’ll wear a pretty dress and I’ll dance with all the boys, and everything will be sugar hearts and flowers, but until then—” She took a deep breath and shouted, “FOCUS!”
Moloch and Violetta huddled on the ground and nodded in unison. Violetta tentatively raised a hand. Agatha glared at her. “What?”
Violetta twisted her hands together and looked imploringly up at Agatha. “This party…Can I have a pretty dress, too?”
Agatha’s fury stopped cold. She looked surprised. “Well…well of course.” Then she turned grim again. “Assuming you’re still alive.”
Several minutes later, Agatha was scrambling over the rubble of what appeared to have once been a trophy hall. The walls were tilted at alarming angles, and the floor was strewn with bric-a-brac and the contents of broken cabinets.
“So…Castle? Gil’s been inside for hours by now. Is he even…I mean, is he all right?”
The voice echoed from all around her. “I am sorry, Mistress. I don’t know.”
Agatha’s mood was still sour. “Why is nothing easy with you?” she growled.
“You want easy? Go live in a yurt,” the Castle said.
Agatha stared blankly at the nearest wall. Not having a physical face or body—at least, in the usual sense—made the Castle a very difficult person to read. “A what?”
“A yurt!” the Castle repeated “A type of portable shelter made of wool felt. Used by the Mongols!”
Well, at least it wasn’t speculating about her love life. “How… fascinating,” Agatha said.
“Yes! The Mongols!” The Castle was getting excited now. Bits of broken metal floated into the air in front and formed a rough tent-like shape. The Castle went on, “Those extraordinary fighters who swarmed out of the East, subduing all that lay before them! Your ancestors learned so much from them!”
“Really.” Agatha didn’t know what to say.
But the Castle did. “Yes! The tactics of battle! The use of superior technology! The art of ruthlessness!”
The makeshift model yurt clattered to the ground. An iron statue of a mounted warrior shot out of a pile of rubble and took its place—hanging in the air in front of Agatha’s nose. She took a quick jump backward. “Ah…” she said. “No kidding…”
The Castle was not finished. “Oh, to see such glorious carnage!” it enthused, its voice rising. “My greatest dream is to be remade as a yurt! To travel! To see the world as a series of battles! To eschew stairways and windows—”
Agatha couldn’t take any more of this nonsense. “What on Earth is the matter with you!” she screamed at the ceiling.
There was a brief silence. Then the Castle spoke again, in a more subdued tone. “I…I…forgive me, mistress.” It sounded confused. “I do not know.”
Elsewhere, at that very moment, Gil was arm deep in the Castle’s machinery. He pulled a small component out of the wall and held it up for Professor Tiktoffen’s approval. “Aha! And here’s another problem!”
They had already made substantial progress. Professor Tiktoffen had proven himself to be an extraordinarily strong Spark in his own right, who had apparently dedicated the last few years to an exhaustive analysis of the Castle’s systems—while Theo and Gil were old friends, and knew how to bring out the best in each other when they worked. Sleipnir was an exemplary mechanic in her own right and was used to working with Sparks. She had also proved invaluable in finding ways to keep Zola, Zeetha, and Zola’s tall men too busy to get in the way or succumb to despair. Even Krosp had proved useful, as his small size had allowed him to squeeze into spaces the others could not.