PROLOGUE
Twenty Years Ago—
Lucrezia Mongfish slotted the last components securely into their places inside the great engine, slapped the hatch closed, and cackled. Her assistant, the defrocked priestess Mozek, shuddered at the sound. “You shouldn’t be getting so worked up, Mistress,” the old woman said, as she tightened the final bolts. “Not in your condition.”
Mozek felt the presence of Glimtockka, the taciturn Geisterdame who never left Lucrezia’s side, looming beside her. She didn’t bother to look up at the frowning warrior. “And don’t you even pretend you don’t agree with me, White-eyes.”
The Geister snarled at the overly familiar address, and Mozek fully expected to feel the usual stinging rap to the back of her head. Instead, to her astonishment, she heard the warrior clearing her little-used throat. Mozek had diligently studied the language of the Pale Ladies, partly because it helped serve her mistress’s purposes, and partly because she learned many potentially lifesaving secrets when people didn’t think she could understand them.
“Your slave speaks truly, Lady. Her impertinence rises in a legitimate cause. If she who you carry within you is indeed the Holy Child—”
Lucrezia ended this by slapping Glimtockka sharply across the face. “Silence!” She stamped her foot. “I’ve told you that stupid prophecy is wrong! It is predicated on failure! My failure!” She spun about and regarded the two figures that were strapped to the large steel tables. One of them, a furious construct of flesh, metal, and black leather, writhed impotently against her bonds. She roared, cursing Lucrezia in Old French. “That which you have done here is blasphemy!”
“Oh, I know!” Lucrezia hugged herself and twirled about. “It’s so exciting! I’m positively giddy!”
Lucrezia’s pirouette took her to the other table. Strapped to this one was a clank, made all of metal, in the shape of an angel almost three meters tall. Even restrained, it was imposing, although it was evident it had been neglected for quite a while. Its clothing was frayed and tattered; its wig, once elegantly coiffed, was now a dusty rat’s nest sliding from its place. The great wings were now little more than almost-bare struts still adorned with a few tarnished silver-foil feathers. Its face, as well as the rest of its body, was still and lifeless. But not for long, Lucrezia promised herself. She turned back to the other slab while patting the inert clank.
“I’d think you’d be glad to be out of this old thing. I mean, it must have been terribly boring being chained up in that forgotten hallway for over a hundred years . . . ”
To Lucrezia’s discomfort, her words merely caused her prisoner to smile. Lucrezia felt ghostly icicles of dread slide down her spine. “You have no idea what it was like,” the creature on the slab said with obvious relish. “But I take comfort in knowing that if you continue in this madness, you will.”
Lucrezia considered giving this impudent wretch a slap as well, but . . . even shackled, there were those terrible teeth. They had seemed like such a funny idea at the time . . .
She was saved from further indecision by the sound of Mozek clearing her throat. “It is done, Mistress.”
Lucrezia looked over her minion’s work and could find no fault. Thick cables were now attached to the metal figure. The engines themselves were awash with green lights as they quietly thrummed.
“It won’t work, Lady Heterodyne.” The creature on the slab’s voice was different now. There was no trace of anger or malice. It was a voice that begged to be heeded. “You are attempting to pour the ocean into a teacup.” She glanced at the prone figure beside her. “And you have actually found a teacup strong enough to hold it.”
Lucrezia tipped her head to one side as she considered the construct. “That’s very impressive, that voice thing. Some sort of harmonic pitch. Is that how you got old Andronicus to actually listen to you?” She patted the inert clank. “It might actually have worked if you’d been able to use your original vocal mechanisms, but even so, it was very persuasive. I’ll have to remember that.”
She strode over to the switches. “But I am tired of listening to you. Tired of being under the thumb of my husband’s House and tired of being a good little wife!” She gestured towards Mozek, who threw the first switch. There was a hum and then a roar. The lights flickered and the air became heavy as, unseen and malevolent, the vast presence of Castle Heterodyne filled the room.
“What is this place?” The Castle sounded confused. “It is a part of me, yet it is not.” It paused. “Lady Heterodyne,” it said in a voice filled with suspicion. “This is your doing. You are meddling where you should not!”
Lucrezia laughed scornfully. “And that is the last time you will tell me what I should or should not do!” She grasped the final switch. “Things are going to be different around here!” With a shout of triumph, she threw the switch—
And things were very different indeed.
NOW, WHERE WERE WE . . .
CHAPTER 1
Lucrezia blinked as she awoke. She had been outdoors, with dear Klaus1—she had him, and his empire, very nearly under her thumb—but now he was gone and she was indoors. She realized with surprise that she was in the secret laboratory she had established beneath Castle Heterodyne . . . oh, how long had it been since she had worked here? Since she had been the young rebellious spark with such a malicious delight in her schemes? Her head swam. It seemed an eternity. So much had happened to her since then. The room was dusty now, damaged and neglected since the fall of Castle Heterodyne, but she still remembered it well. Someone was standing over her. A girl. “Oh! My goodness. Who—?” she began weakly. It couldn’t hurt to play vulnerable, put whoever it was off their guard. Looking vulnerable was easy in the body she currently wore—that of the youthful Agatha Heterodyne.
The girl looked down at her and smiled. “Hello, Auntie Lucrezia. I’m here to help you.”
Lucrezia rocked back in astonishment as she beheld the face of her long-estranged sister hanging ominously above her. She looked as if she had never aged beyond the carefree days when all three Mongfish sisters still lived in their father’s fortress and gloried in their fame as the three beautiful daughters of the supremely evil spark Lucifer Mongfish. “Demonica?”2
Zola laughed in delight. “Yes, everyone says that I look just like dear Mama!” She drew herself up. “But no. I am Zola Anya Talinka Venia Zeblinkya Malfeazium.”
Lucrezia looked haunted and glanced around. Her fingers twitched towards a nearby wrench. “First Serpentina’s boy, then you. I swear, if Daddy is waiting to pop out from around a chair . . . ”
Zola waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, Grandfather died years ago, in a freak airship explosion.” Lucrezia raised her eyebrows. Zola shrugged, “I know! Such a cliché.3 We still laugh about it at Christmas. But no, no, it’s just me.”
“Excellent,” said Lucrezia, as she swung the wrench upward, knocking Zola cold with one smooth blow.
Zola awoke with an aching head and the realization she was restrained. A few subtle tests revealed that whoever had secured her knew her business.