Gilgamesh Wulfenbach and the Men of Letters 6/?
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Chapter 6
The Angel and the Cathedral
Castiel woke slowly to early morning sun streaming through his window and birds singing merrily outside. It took him a moment to place the musty, dusty, faintly metallic tinge to the air as belonging to Castle Heterodyne-those were scents never present in the bunker, which smelled primarily of old books and leather, and the Gas-’n’-Sip storeroom, where he’d stayed during his brief tenure as “Steve” the attendant, had only reeked of cigarette smoke and gasoline fumes. It had been mid-morning in Lebanon when he accompanied Kevin through the portal to the cathedral, so even though Lady Heterodyne had insisted that they spend the night in the castle, Castiel hadn’t expected to sleep much at all. Evidently the effects of the anti-wasp potion had taken a greater toll than he’d thought.
“Ah, good morning, Master Castiel!” boomed the castle’s artificial intelligence as he sat up. It wasn’t speaking English, yet somehow he understood as if it were... as had been the case the night before with everyone except Kevin and the Winchesters, who appeared not even to notice that they weren’t actually hearing English. Perhaps it was part of the magic, or science, of the portal. Not that any human language normally posed a barrier to an angel’s understanding, but it was odd to experience as a human. “You’re up early,” the castle continued.
Castiel frowned and looked at the window. “What time is it?”
“It’s just gone 5:00. The mistress is still asleep, but I could wake one of her minions for you if you require breakfast.”
“Ah, no, thank you. I’m quite all right.”
“Indeed, most everyone appears to be asleep still. Your young friend is awake, but-heh heh-he seems to be too afraid to get out of bed.”
“I can’t imagine why,” he said dryly.
“The mistress’ Jägers are on watch,” the castle went on as if Castiel hadn’t spoken. “And of course, I never sleep.”
“Then you know, I take it, how matters stand on the Sturmhalten road?”
“... Ah. Well, unfortunately, my sensors reach no further than the pass, and the last of the Wulfenbach troops left that area some hours ago. However, the Jägers may know more.”
“I see. And Castle Wulfenbach itself?”
“Is also no longer in the airspace I monitor. But before it left, I did sense a smaller airship meeting it from the direction of Sturmhalten, so we may assume that the mistress’ consorts and your friends have indeed reached it.”
“Thank you. You will keep an eye out for them?”
“Well, of course.” The castle sounded mildly offended. “The mistress needs her consorts, after all.” It paused before adding in a tone that could be either mischievous or malicious, “You, on the other hand....”
“Distinctly heard your mistress order you yesterday to keep Kevin and me safe and unharmed. And she would be most displeased if you disobeyed her in any way, including attempting to find a loophole in her words.”
“Hmph. You’re no fun.”
“I happen to have worked with the King of Hell long enough to be cautious, that’s all.”
“-The King of Hell?” It seemed to be recalculating its opinion. “In what capacity, pray tell?”
“Have you heard the old Arab saying, ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’?”
“Ah. An alliance of convenience.”
“If you like.”
“And does that describe your view of the Lady Heterodyne?”
“Of course not. The Lady Heterodyne is a good-hearted lady who needs all the friends she can get. My friends and I are here to help her.”
“And to get her help in your own war?”
“Our war,” Castiel said archly, “is none of her concern, and Lord willing, it will stay that way. We have no intention of allowing our problems to follow us here.”
“Ah, but you brought a number of them with you. Those stone tablets Master Tran has hidden in his room, for instance-don’t think I didn’t notice. But,” the castle added more cheerfully, “any man who can conduct an alliance of convenience with the King of Hell and live to tell the tale is quite welcome here. Would you like a tour of the dungeons?”
“No. I would like to be left in peace to dress.”
“Oh, very well. There may be something suitable in the wardrobe.”
But the wardrobe, it turned out, was infested with large, colorful spiders, all of which caught sight of Castiel at once and let out a hungry-sounding chorus of “NYAR!” The castle had to crush the whole thing before any of the spiders could jump him. So with a sigh, Castiel unpacked an outfit of Dean’s from the bag Kevin had sensibly insisted that he bring. After dressing, he shaved at the dry sink, feeling an odd tingle from the water when he washed his face afterward, and headed out to face the day.
Several doors down the hall, outside Lady Heterodyne’s room, he found three Jägers playing poker-well, as best they could given that one of them was missing his left arm. They introduced themselves as Maxim, Oggie, and Dimo, and while they hesitated to give Castiel any specific information before talking to Lady Heterodyne, they did confirm that the Impala had been picked up by a Wulfenbach airship and taken safely to Castle Wulfenbach. Then, when Castiel mentioned wanting to go for a walk in the town, Maxim offered to escort him at least as far as the causeway. Castiel accepted, and off they went.
“Zo hyu iz friends vit der Vinchesters, hey?” Maxim asked with a fanged smile that was surprisingly good-natured even on his slender purple-skinned face. “Hy hear dey fight goot.”
“I missed the battle,” Castiel confessed, “but yes, they are good fighters.”
“Iz dey soldiers?”
“No, only hunters. They were trained by their father, though, and he was a United States Marine.”
“Ho! Neffer fought dose guys. Hy vos a cafalry offizier before Hy took de Jägerbräu.”
“You wouldn’t have, unless your world’s history is very different from ours. The United States hasn’t had cause to enter a European war.”
“Vait, hyu dun mean Hamereeka.”
“I do.”
“Master Bill und Master Barry vent to Hamereeka von time! Dot vos ven dey met de sparky lady, Thunderink Engine Voman-hyu know her?”
“Er, no, I’m afraid not.”
“Ho yah, she vos de great-great...” Maxim paused to count on his fingers. “Vell, anyvay, von of her ancestors vos der Chief Pontiac.” [1]
Castiel blinked. “You met the lady?”
“Yah, she come beck vit Master Bill und Master Barry for a vile. Vos very interestink, but her Cherman vosn’t zo goot.”
“No, I suppose not.” The fact that Castiel was still hearing what might have been German-probably an old obscure dialect-as accented English had neither escaped him nor grown less odd. He wasn’t even sure which language he was speaking himself, though no one seemed to have any trouble understanding him.
Maxim continued chattering companionably at Castiel until they reached the gate, at which point Castiel politely declined his offer of a tour of the town and made his getaway. He was grateful for Maxim’s friendliness, of course, but he really needed to regain his equilibrium on his own terms. And that included a break from whatever this strange language phenomenon was.
Despite the lingering sense that great evil had been done in this town, still clear to him even in his current diminished state, Castiel found the early morning quiet to be remarkably peaceful. He walked slowly, relishing the cool mountain air and the gentle glow imparted to the town by the combination of sunlight and river fog. Most people were evidently still asleep, but here and there he caught the scent of a cooking fire and occasionally of coffee, bacon, or sausage. Such experiences made the loss of his grace easier to bear. He’d had tastes of them before, of course, when his grace was slowly fading during the Apocalypse, but he didn’t think he’d appreciated them quite so much at the time.
Eventually he wandered out of a side street into the cathedral square. He’d heard rumblings about the structure’s past, but it seemed Bill Heterodyne had taken a page from the life of King Josiah and rededicated it to the worship of the true God. And though Castiel had been badly disillusioned about his own Father... well, he had been an angel and now felt drawn to go inside and pray. Once inside, he found he was not alone; a young man with straight black hair and side whiskers was sitting three pews from the back on the left side, and a scantily-clad young lady with long green hair was sitting on the front pew as if keeping watch over the two coffins-one open, one closed-resting in front of her in the crossing. Castiel slipped into the back pew, knelt, and tried to find the right words to pray.
Then he had to firmly squash the part of his mind that immediately brought up the second verse of “California Dreamin’.” He’d been around Dean too long.
Our Father Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name, he finally began, but paused. Well, You may not be my Father, but I suspect You already knew that. Just... help, please. I don’t know where I’m needed, what I ought to do, whether I even ought to remain here. Where will I do the most good, especially like... like this?
The green-haired girl sniffled. Castiel looked up and realized she was looking at the baron’s casket.
Well, here was a place to start. He got up and walked over to her. “Forgive me, ma’am,” he whispered, “but would you care for some company?”
She shrugged a little. But as he sat down beside her, she looked at him more closely. “You’re not from Mechanicsburg,” she noted, and he detected an accent in her speech that he couldn’t place. “You’re dressed like Dean.”
“Very like,” he admitted ruefully. “I had to borrow these clothes from him. Sam’s wouldn’t fit me.”
“So you’re friends? From... from America?”
He nodded. “Castiel.”
“Zeetha, daughter of-” Her voice caught, and she stifled a sob. “No. No, I can’t say it that way anymore, even as a joke. I am Zeetha, daughter of Klaus, Royal Princess Guardian of Skifander.”
His question about what or where Skifander might be was forestalled by the sudden realization of why ‘Klaus’ would be significant. He looked at the baron’s casket and back at her. “He was your father?”
She nodded. “He left when I was only a month old. I never even knew his right name until we got here.”
“What had he called himself?”
“Chump,” came the sobbed answer. “I don’t... I guess he didn’t know enough Skiff, or whoever found him heard him talking to himself or something. And now I can’t even ask him!”
“You’re sure, though?”
She sniffled and nodded again. “When we met in Sturmhalten, he spoke Skiff. He choked suddenly-I guess Lucrezia did something to him-but he’d started to say something about my mother. And... and Gil... he looks like me, and the baron thought I’d been sent to kill him, probably for being my twin, and he... Gil said his father t-taught him... some techniques that are... well, they’re ancient Skifandrian warrior disciplines. Mother said... Chump would be the only person in... in Europa who would know those things. He was her zumil.” The tears she’d been fighting finally began to flow. “And now I’m still trapped in Europa and my father is gone!”
He pulled her into a hug and let her cry herself out on his shoulder. She started shivering as her tears subsided, and he wished he’d brought a jacket to lend her; the cathedral really was quite cool, and the dress she was wearing looked like it had been borrowed from a barmaid.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She sniffled and sat back with a bit of a laugh. “Guess you know what it’s like to be stranded in a strange place, huh?”
“We may have stranded ourselves this time, but yes. I do. And my... Father disappeared many years ago. He’s not dead, but....”
“Have... did you look for him?”
He nodded. “He doesn’t want to be found. Not even if it would save the world.”
“Oh. Man. That’s rough. Mother?”
“Never had one. I... used to be an angel.”
“Oh. Oh, wow. What happened?”
“My grace was stolen. Now I’m human.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.”
They sat together in companionable silence for a while, she looking at the coffin and he studying the architecture.
Then she sighed. “Guess I should get back before Mamma Gkika comes looking for me.” She put a hand to her chest and winced.
“Are you ill?”
“Got stabbed. I’ll be all right. It’s mostly healed.” She stood but paused and put a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“For listening. And for reminding me that there’s always someone who’s got it worse somehow.” She kissed his cheek and left.
Well, there was that. The town had taken a terrible beating the day before. Perhaps he should go and see if there were anything he could do to help the injured or contribute to the rebuilding.
The dark-haired young man had his head in his hands as Castiel passed, but his body language was very much like Dean’s when he wanted to be left alone, so Castiel kept walking. As he slipped out the door, however, he was surprised by the silhouette of a taller man hesitating at the edge of the portal, studying the gruesome sculptures. His dress was that of a local man, but as Castiel drew closer, he could make out the man’s face-brown hair, grey eyes, and light skin, but the hooked nose and other features of one of America’s native peoples.
Then the man startled suddenly. “Castiel!”
Castiel blinked. “You have the advantage of me... brother. I don’t recognize you.”
“N-no, you would-” The man-the angel?-paused and seemed to come to a sudden decision. “Come,” he said, turning to usher Castiel down the steps. “It would perhaps be better to talk elsewhere. You wish to see the hospital, I think. And the Lady Heterodyne will want a report of our progress when she wakes.”
“You have made your own vessel?” Castiel asked, following cautiously.
“Yes. The DuMedds made me a clank, but it proved too unwieldy. Working among the wounded required greater dexterity and maneuverability. This guise was that of my last vessel but one.”
Castiel frowned. “Why a clank?”
“My last vessel was... no longer available, and I was not yet healed enough to make my own.”
“But you are so healed now.”
The other angel gave Castiel a worried look. “Yes, but I do not recommend the method to you. Without your grace, it could well kill you. However,” he added with a glance at Castiel’s injured wrist, “I can do this much for you.” He touched Castiel’s shoulder, and the pain fled.
Castiel flexed his fingers experimentally, but since he had no place to put the air cast, he left it on. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” the other angel replied with a small smile, though he still looked worried and his brisk pace indicated nervousness. “Have you your blade?”
“What? Uh, no. I believe I left it at the castle.”
The other angel’s face cleared a bit more. “You should have no need of it. The town is very secure.” As they hurried toward the hospital, he pointed out places where the castle had already made significant repairs to houses and shops, as well as the inn where most of the asylum-seekers had been temporarily housed. “Many of the sparks are beyond my aid, I fear,” he noted sadly. “They have chosen the path of madness and domination. They are under Lady Agatha’s protection, but....”
“Asylum has more than one meaning, brother.”
“You think she would consider that?”
“I’ll suggest it to her. She could present it as being for their benefit-the Agatha Heterodyne Home for Troubled Sparks or some such.”
“Ha! And perhaps some kind of virtual laboratory, where they can do no harm.”
“Would that Gabriel were here.”
“Yes, he would enjoy designing such a thing.”
They arrived then at an open field, full of tents, that appeared to be the grounds of the ruined hospital. The other angel showed Castiel through the guarded area where captured troops were being housed and treated, the triage tents and temporary operating theaters, and the tents housing the wounded and ill.
“There is still much to do, as you can see,” he concluded as they left the last tent. “Dr. Sun has had me treating those nearest death and those who cannot be saved with the medicine now available here. But it is... taxing, to do such work while still under Metatron’s curse.”
“That’s why you went to the cathedral,” Castiel realized. “To seek rest.”
The other angel shot him an unreadable look. “You... understand.”
“I do. In fact, I’m amazed that you’ve been able to heal so many. When I... during the Apocalypse, when I was cut off from the Host, I couldn’t even heal Bobby Singer’s legs.”
“It hardly feels like enough.”
They were, at this point, in an open area that appeared to be out of earshot of other humans, so Castiel stopped. “Who are you?”
The other angel looked-no, not just worried, afraid. “Please... do not kill me, brother. The stories about me, they are not true.”
Puzzle pieces started slotting into place. “You came here with Sam and Dean.”
“Yes.”
“But you’re not Ezekiel. I can’t see your true face, but I knew his vessel.”
“No. I have now told the Winchesters the full truth.”
“You’re seeking atonement for a failure.”
“Of the gravest order. I am Gadreel.”
Castiel stared. “You-”
“Gadreel!” someone called from one of the tents. “We need help-he’s crashing!”
“Forgive me,” Gadreel said hurriedly and flew off.
Castiel was still staring after him in shock when another voice said, “Ah, Master Castiel, is it?”
Castiel turned to see an older Chinese man in a lab coat walking toward him with a clipboard. “Yes, sir.”
“Dr. Sun Jen-djieh, at your service.” They bowed to each other and shook hands, and he continued, “I see you know Gadreel.”
“Er, yes.”
“He’s been a very great help, I must say. Saved at least two hundred lives last night. And young von Mekkhan tells me he actually ejected the slaver wasp from the baron.” Dr. Sun shook his head. “Pity Klaus wouldn’t let Gadreel do anything about the neurotoxin the wasp released.”
Castiel was still too deeply shocked to think of anything more to say than, “He was among Our Father’s most trusted angels once.”
“I can see why.” After a pause, Dr. Sun cleared his throat. “Well, if you are headed back to the castle, would you be good enough to take this report to Her Ladyship?”
Castiel shook himself and drew a deep breath. “Yes, certainly.”
Dr. Sun took a folder off the clipboard and handed it to Castiel, then shook hands again and took his leave. But Castiel stayed where he was, still trying to reconcile the rumors of Gadreel’s treason with his willingness to drop everything to save dying humans.
“You would think I’d be used to unexpected things happening in Mechanicsburg by now,” said another unfamiliar voice-in English, with a crisp British accent. Castiel turned to find that it belonged to the young man from the cathedral. “Perhaps I never shall be.”
Castiel smiled a little. “Well, to be fair, this one didn’t come from Mechanicsburg.”
“So I gather.” The young man offered his hand. “Ardsley Wooster, British Intelligence.”
“You followed us,” Castiel surmised, shaking hands.
“Well, I could hardly help overhearing your conversation with Princess Zeetha, and I am a spy-albeit somewhat in disgrace at the moment.”
“So that was why you were in the cathedral.”
Mr. Wooster hesitated. “Would you join me for breakfast, Master Castiel?”
“I’d be glad to.”
As they walked to a café that was just opening for business, Mr. Wooster explained how he had met the current Baron Wulfenbach in Paris, become his valet, and enjoyed his job tremendously until Wulfenbach revealed that he’d known all along that Mr. Wooster was a spy. Then had come the problem of getting Lady Heterodyne out of Sturmhalten, failing to convince her to go to England, and aiding her as much as possible both by escorting her to Mechanicsburg and by delivering messages from von Mekkhan to the Jäger generals.
“I had intended to make my escape then,” he continued after the waitress took their order. “But I was still reporting to my contact when word came that the baron and Martellus von Blitzengaard had been killed and that Lady Heterodyne had defeated the baron’s forces. Elements of the report were... less than fully credible, but such rumors have the potential to destabilize the situation even further and prompt more rebellions across Europa, especially as Master Gil is as yet untested and neither he nor Lady Heterodyne has yet been acknowledged in the wider world. My superiors were furious with me for being exposed and sent me back here, and I quote, to ‘ensure that nothing else goes wrong.’”
Castiel huffed. “No doubt they chastised you for growing too close to your charges.”
Mr. Wooster blinked. “How on earth did you know that?”
“Because it happened to me. Dean had his own ideas of how to stop Lilith from starting the Apocalypse, and when I came too close to helping him succeed, my superiors claimed my loyalties had grown confused and... reeducated me.”
“I say! What rotten luck.”
“Yes, well, it didn’t stick, but I’m afraid I did some unforgivable things as a result. By the time Dean convinced me of my error, it was too late. Sam had already fallen into Lilith’s trap and freed Lucifer.”
“But... I thought you said you were an angel.”
“I was. In Our Father’s absence, my superiors had forgotten their true mission.”
“Great Scott....”
The food arrived just then, and they ate in silence for a while.
But Mr. Wooster eventually paused and said slowly, “Perhaps we can be of service to each other, Master Castiel.”
“I’m not a terribly good spy, Mr. Wooster,” Castiel replied. “And I have no intention of betraying my friends.”
“No more do I. I am quite fond of Master Gil and Lady Heterodyne, and... my sources tell me your friends helped remove The Other from Lady Heterodyne’s mind.”
“They did, yes.”
“I need some way to prove that to my superiors. Help me get it, and I shall provide all of you with identity papers to prove that you and your friends are private American citizens, traveling in Europa of your own accord-enough documentation to stand up to the scrutiny of any foreign government, including my own. Even if you all remain in Europa, there will be spies here and aboard Castle Wulfenbach who will ask questions.”
Castiel thought for a moment, then closed his eyes. “Gadreel? When you have a moment, I need your assistance. I am at the café three blocks from the hospital-and unarmed.” He opened his eyes and explained, “He may be busy.”
“Why did you mention where you are?”
“In our world, there were many angels who were angry with me, not knowing that Metatron had tricked me into aiding him with the spell to cast us all down. I have a warding tattoo that hides me from angelic senses.”
A flutter of wings announced Gadreel’s arrival, making Mr. Wooster jump. “What is it, brother?” Gadreel asked warily.
“Lady Heterodyne said something about sending a recording of Baron Wulfenbach’s last speech with the new baron and Prince Tarvek,” Castiel began. “Was it you who made that recording?”
“Er, yes.”
“Did it include the exorcism?”
“It did.”
Castiel gestured across the table to Mr. Wooster, who was still staring at Gadreel in shock. “Mr. Wooster needs a copy. He’s with British Intelligence.”
“To prove Lady Heterodyne’s innocence,” Mr. Wooster recovered enough to add when Gadreel gave him a puzzled frown.
Gadreel considered, vanished briefly, and returned with a brass sphere that he handed to Mr. Wooster. “This clank is a projector,” he explained. “Point the small circle toward a screen and press the red button to play.”
“I say,” Mr. Wooster breathed. “Thanks awfully. Do sit down, would you? We’ve your cover story to sort out yet-new identity papers, I mean.”
“I may be called away at any time,” Gadreel warned as he pulled up a chair.
“I quite understand.”
“This story may be difficult to devise. We are from another time as well as another world.”
“Let’s start,” Castiel suggested, “with surnames. Winchester, do you think?”
Gadreel looked uncomfortable. “For you, perhaps. I will take Haggerty.”
Mr. Wooster had a notepad out and jotted that down. “Ages?”
“Sam is 32,” Castiel replied. “Dean is 36. Kevin Tran is 18. I am... 41, and Gadreel....”
“This vessel was 40,” Gadreel stated.
Mr. Wooster hesitated a second before shaking his head and writing down that age. “I suppose it might be best to say that you’re all members of some kind of secret society.”
“Oh, but we are.”
Mr. Wooster looked at him in surprise. “You are?”
Gadreel smiled and looked at Castiel, who smiled back and said, “We’re Men of Letters.”
Next
[1] This is one of the few details I’ll come right out and claim as being 100% personal headcanon. (In case you don’t get the joke: Pontiac was an Ottawa chief who helped lead an anti-British uprising around Fort Detroit in the 1760s; in the 1920s, Detroit-based General Motors, which by then also included Chevrolet, launched a new car brand with the Pontiac Chief. GM discontinued the Pontiac brand in 2010.)
Chapter 6
The Angel and the Cathedral
Castiel woke slowly to early morning sun streaming through his window and birds singing merrily outside. It took him a moment to place the musty, dusty, faintly metallic tinge to the air as belonging to Castle Heterodyne-those were scents never present in the bunker, which smelled primarily of old books and leather, and the Gas-’n’-Sip storeroom, where he’d stayed during his brief tenure as “Steve” the attendant, had only reeked of cigarette smoke and gasoline fumes. It had been mid-morning in Lebanon when he accompanied Kevin through the portal to the cathedral, so even though Lady Heterodyne had insisted that they spend the night in the castle, Castiel hadn’t expected to sleep much at all. Evidently the effects of the anti-wasp potion had taken a greater toll than he’d thought.
“Ah, good morning, Master Castiel!” boomed the castle’s artificial intelligence as he sat up. It wasn’t speaking English, yet somehow he understood as if it were... as had been the case the night before with everyone except Kevin and the Winchesters, who appeared not even to notice that they weren’t actually hearing English. Perhaps it was part of the magic, or science, of the portal. Not that any human language normally posed a barrier to an angel’s understanding, but it was odd to experience as a human. “You’re up early,” the castle continued.
Castiel frowned and looked at the window. “What time is it?”
“It’s just gone 5:00. The mistress is still asleep, but I could wake one of her minions for you if you require breakfast.”
“Ah, no, thank you. I’m quite all right.”
“Indeed, most everyone appears to be asleep still. Your young friend is awake, but-heh heh-he seems to be too afraid to get out of bed.”
“I can’t imagine why,” he said dryly.
“The mistress’ Jägers are on watch,” the castle went on as if Castiel hadn’t spoken. “And of course, I never sleep.”
“Then you know, I take it, how matters stand on the Sturmhalten road?”
“... Ah. Well, unfortunately, my sensors reach no further than the pass, and the last of the Wulfenbach troops left that area some hours ago. However, the Jägers may know more.”
“I see. And Castle Wulfenbach itself?”
“Is also no longer in the airspace I monitor. But before it left, I did sense a smaller airship meeting it from the direction of Sturmhalten, so we may assume that the mistress’ consorts and your friends have indeed reached it.”
“Thank you. You will keep an eye out for them?”
“Well, of course.” The castle sounded mildly offended. “The mistress needs her consorts, after all.” It paused before adding in a tone that could be either mischievous or malicious, “You, on the other hand....”
“Distinctly heard your mistress order you yesterday to keep Kevin and me safe and unharmed. And she would be most displeased if you disobeyed her in any way, including attempting to find a loophole in her words.”
“Hmph. You’re no fun.”
“I happen to have worked with the King of Hell long enough to be cautious, that’s all.”
“-The King of Hell?” It seemed to be recalculating its opinion. “In what capacity, pray tell?”
“Have you heard the old Arab saying, ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’?”
“Ah. An alliance of convenience.”
“If you like.”
“And does that describe your view of the Lady Heterodyne?”
“Of course not. The Lady Heterodyne is a good-hearted lady who needs all the friends she can get. My friends and I are here to help her.”
“And to get her help in your own war?”
“Our war,” Castiel said archly, “is none of her concern, and Lord willing, it will stay that way. We have no intention of allowing our problems to follow us here.”
“Ah, but you brought a number of them with you. Those stone tablets Master Tran has hidden in his room, for instance-don’t think I didn’t notice. But,” the castle added more cheerfully, “any man who can conduct an alliance of convenience with the King of Hell and live to tell the tale is quite welcome here. Would you like a tour of the dungeons?”
“No. I would like to be left in peace to dress.”
“Oh, very well. There may be something suitable in the wardrobe.”
But the wardrobe, it turned out, was infested with large, colorful spiders, all of which caught sight of Castiel at once and let out a hungry-sounding chorus of “NYAR!” The castle had to crush the whole thing before any of the spiders could jump him. So with a sigh, Castiel unpacked an outfit of Dean’s from the bag Kevin had sensibly insisted that he bring. After dressing, he shaved at the dry sink, feeling an odd tingle from the water when he washed his face afterward, and headed out to face the day.
Several doors down the hall, outside Lady Heterodyne’s room, he found three Jägers playing poker-well, as best they could given that one of them was missing his left arm. They introduced themselves as Maxim, Oggie, and Dimo, and while they hesitated to give Castiel any specific information before talking to Lady Heterodyne, they did confirm that the Impala had been picked up by a Wulfenbach airship and taken safely to Castle Wulfenbach. Then, when Castiel mentioned wanting to go for a walk in the town, Maxim offered to escort him at least as far as the causeway. Castiel accepted, and off they went.
“Zo hyu iz friends vit der Vinchesters, hey?” Maxim asked with a fanged smile that was surprisingly good-natured even on his slender purple-skinned face. “Hy hear dey fight goot.”
“I missed the battle,” Castiel confessed, “but yes, they are good fighters.”
“Iz dey soldiers?”
“No, only hunters. They were trained by their father, though, and he was a United States Marine.”
“Ho! Neffer fought dose guys. Hy vos a cafalry offizier before Hy took de Jägerbräu.”
“You wouldn’t have, unless your world’s history is very different from ours. The United States hasn’t had cause to enter a European war.”
“Vait, hyu dun mean Hamereeka.”
“I do.”
“Master Bill und Master Barry vent to Hamereeka von time! Dot vos ven dey met de sparky lady, Thunderink Engine Voman-hyu know her?”
“Er, no, I’m afraid not.”
“Ho yah, she vos de great-great...” Maxim paused to count on his fingers. “Vell, anyvay, von of her ancestors vos der Chief Pontiac.” [1]
Castiel blinked. “You met the lady?”
“Yah, she come beck vit Master Bill und Master Barry for a vile. Vos very interestink, but her Cherman vosn’t zo goot.”
“No, I suppose not.” The fact that Castiel was still hearing what might have been German-probably an old obscure dialect-as accented English had neither escaped him nor grown less odd. He wasn’t even sure which language he was speaking himself, though no one seemed to have any trouble understanding him.
Maxim continued chattering companionably at Castiel until they reached the gate, at which point Castiel politely declined his offer of a tour of the town and made his getaway. He was grateful for Maxim’s friendliness, of course, but he really needed to regain his equilibrium on his own terms. And that included a break from whatever this strange language phenomenon was.
Despite the lingering sense that great evil had been done in this town, still clear to him even in his current diminished state, Castiel found the early morning quiet to be remarkably peaceful. He walked slowly, relishing the cool mountain air and the gentle glow imparted to the town by the combination of sunlight and river fog. Most people were evidently still asleep, but here and there he caught the scent of a cooking fire and occasionally of coffee, bacon, or sausage. Such experiences made the loss of his grace easier to bear. He’d had tastes of them before, of course, when his grace was slowly fading during the Apocalypse, but he didn’t think he’d appreciated them quite so much at the time.
Eventually he wandered out of a side street into the cathedral square. He’d heard rumblings about the structure’s past, but it seemed Bill Heterodyne had taken a page from the life of King Josiah and rededicated it to the worship of the true God. And though Castiel had been badly disillusioned about his own Father... well, he had been an angel and now felt drawn to go inside and pray. Once inside, he found he was not alone; a young man with straight black hair and side whiskers was sitting three pews from the back on the left side, and a scantily-clad young lady with long green hair was sitting on the front pew as if keeping watch over the two coffins-one open, one closed-resting in front of her in the crossing. Castiel slipped into the back pew, knelt, and tried to find the right words to pray.
Then he had to firmly squash the part of his mind that immediately brought up the second verse of “California Dreamin’.” He’d been around Dean too long.
Our Father Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name, he finally began, but paused. Well, You may not be my Father, but I suspect You already knew that. Just... help, please. I don’t know where I’m needed, what I ought to do, whether I even ought to remain here. Where will I do the most good, especially like... like this?
The green-haired girl sniffled. Castiel looked up and realized she was looking at the baron’s casket.
Well, here was a place to start. He got up and walked over to her. “Forgive me, ma’am,” he whispered, “but would you care for some company?”
She shrugged a little. But as he sat down beside her, she looked at him more closely. “You’re not from Mechanicsburg,” she noted, and he detected an accent in her speech that he couldn’t place. “You’re dressed like Dean.”
“Very like,” he admitted ruefully. “I had to borrow these clothes from him. Sam’s wouldn’t fit me.”
“So you’re friends? From... from America?”
He nodded. “Castiel.”
“Zeetha, daughter of-” Her voice caught, and she stifled a sob. “No. No, I can’t say it that way anymore, even as a joke. I am Zeetha, daughter of Klaus, Royal Princess Guardian of Skifander.”
His question about what or where Skifander might be was forestalled by the sudden realization of why ‘Klaus’ would be significant. He looked at the baron’s casket and back at her. “He was your father?”
She nodded. “He left when I was only a month old. I never even knew his right name until we got here.”
“What had he called himself?”
“Chump,” came the sobbed answer. “I don’t... I guess he didn’t know enough Skiff, or whoever found him heard him talking to himself or something. And now I can’t even ask him!”
“You’re sure, though?”
She sniffled and nodded again. “When we met in Sturmhalten, he spoke Skiff. He choked suddenly-I guess Lucrezia did something to him-but he’d started to say something about my mother. And... and Gil... he looks like me, and the baron thought I’d been sent to kill him, probably for being my twin, and he... Gil said his father t-taught him... some techniques that are... well, they’re ancient Skifandrian warrior disciplines. Mother said... Chump would be the only person in... in Europa who would know those things. He was her zumil.” The tears she’d been fighting finally began to flow. “And now I’m still trapped in Europa and my father is gone!”
He pulled her into a hug and let her cry herself out on his shoulder. She started shivering as her tears subsided, and he wished he’d brought a jacket to lend her; the cathedral really was quite cool, and the dress she was wearing looked like it had been borrowed from a barmaid.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She sniffled and sat back with a bit of a laugh. “Guess you know what it’s like to be stranded in a strange place, huh?”
“We may have stranded ourselves this time, but yes. I do. And my... Father disappeared many years ago. He’s not dead, but....”
“Have... did you look for him?”
He nodded. “He doesn’t want to be found. Not even if it would save the world.”
“Oh. Man. That’s rough. Mother?”
“Never had one. I... used to be an angel.”
“Oh. Oh, wow. What happened?”
“My grace was stolen. Now I’m human.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.”
They sat together in companionable silence for a while, she looking at the coffin and he studying the architecture.
Then she sighed. “Guess I should get back before Mamma Gkika comes looking for me.” She put a hand to her chest and winced.
“Are you ill?”
“Got stabbed. I’ll be all right. It’s mostly healed.” She stood but paused and put a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“For listening. And for reminding me that there’s always someone who’s got it worse somehow.” She kissed his cheek and left.
Well, there was that. The town had taken a terrible beating the day before. Perhaps he should go and see if there were anything he could do to help the injured or contribute to the rebuilding.
The dark-haired young man had his head in his hands as Castiel passed, but his body language was very much like Dean’s when he wanted to be left alone, so Castiel kept walking. As he slipped out the door, however, he was surprised by the silhouette of a taller man hesitating at the edge of the portal, studying the gruesome sculptures. His dress was that of a local man, but as Castiel drew closer, he could make out the man’s face-brown hair, grey eyes, and light skin, but the hooked nose and other features of one of America’s native peoples.
Then the man startled suddenly. “Castiel!”
Castiel blinked. “You have the advantage of me... brother. I don’t recognize you.”
“N-no, you would-” The man-the angel?-paused and seemed to come to a sudden decision. “Come,” he said, turning to usher Castiel down the steps. “It would perhaps be better to talk elsewhere. You wish to see the hospital, I think. And the Lady Heterodyne will want a report of our progress when she wakes.”
“You have made your own vessel?” Castiel asked, following cautiously.
“Yes. The DuMedds made me a clank, but it proved too unwieldy. Working among the wounded required greater dexterity and maneuverability. This guise was that of my last vessel but one.”
Castiel frowned. “Why a clank?”
“My last vessel was... no longer available, and I was not yet healed enough to make my own.”
“But you are so healed now.”
The other angel gave Castiel a worried look. “Yes, but I do not recommend the method to you. Without your grace, it could well kill you. However,” he added with a glance at Castiel’s injured wrist, “I can do this much for you.” He touched Castiel’s shoulder, and the pain fled.
Castiel flexed his fingers experimentally, but since he had no place to put the air cast, he left it on. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” the other angel replied with a small smile, though he still looked worried and his brisk pace indicated nervousness. “Have you your blade?”
“What? Uh, no. I believe I left it at the castle.”
The other angel’s face cleared a bit more. “You should have no need of it. The town is very secure.” As they hurried toward the hospital, he pointed out places where the castle had already made significant repairs to houses and shops, as well as the inn where most of the asylum-seekers had been temporarily housed. “Many of the sparks are beyond my aid, I fear,” he noted sadly. “They have chosen the path of madness and domination. They are under Lady Agatha’s protection, but....”
“Asylum has more than one meaning, brother.”
“You think she would consider that?”
“I’ll suggest it to her. She could present it as being for their benefit-the Agatha Heterodyne Home for Troubled Sparks or some such.”
“Ha! And perhaps some kind of virtual laboratory, where they can do no harm.”
“Would that Gabriel were here.”
“Yes, he would enjoy designing such a thing.”
They arrived then at an open field, full of tents, that appeared to be the grounds of the ruined hospital. The other angel showed Castiel through the guarded area where captured troops were being housed and treated, the triage tents and temporary operating theaters, and the tents housing the wounded and ill.
“There is still much to do, as you can see,” he concluded as they left the last tent. “Dr. Sun has had me treating those nearest death and those who cannot be saved with the medicine now available here. But it is... taxing, to do such work while still under Metatron’s curse.”
“That’s why you went to the cathedral,” Castiel realized. “To seek rest.”
The other angel shot him an unreadable look. “You... understand.”
“I do. In fact, I’m amazed that you’ve been able to heal so many. When I... during the Apocalypse, when I was cut off from the Host, I couldn’t even heal Bobby Singer’s legs.”
“It hardly feels like enough.”
They were, at this point, in an open area that appeared to be out of earshot of other humans, so Castiel stopped. “Who are you?”
The other angel looked-no, not just worried, afraid. “Please... do not kill me, brother. The stories about me, they are not true.”
Puzzle pieces started slotting into place. “You came here with Sam and Dean.”
“Yes.”
“But you’re not Ezekiel. I can’t see your true face, but I knew his vessel.”
“No. I have now told the Winchesters the full truth.”
“You’re seeking atonement for a failure.”
“Of the gravest order. I am Gadreel.”
Castiel stared. “You-”
“Gadreel!” someone called from one of the tents. “We need help-he’s crashing!”
“Forgive me,” Gadreel said hurriedly and flew off.
Castiel was still staring after him in shock when another voice said, “Ah, Master Castiel, is it?”
Castiel turned to see an older Chinese man in a lab coat walking toward him with a clipboard. “Yes, sir.”
“Dr. Sun Jen-djieh, at your service.” They bowed to each other and shook hands, and he continued, “I see you know Gadreel.”
“Er, yes.”
“He’s been a very great help, I must say. Saved at least two hundred lives last night. And young von Mekkhan tells me he actually ejected the slaver wasp from the baron.” Dr. Sun shook his head. “Pity Klaus wouldn’t let Gadreel do anything about the neurotoxin the wasp released.”
Castiel was still too deeply shocked to think of anything more to say than, “He was among Our Father’s most trusted angels once.”
“I can see why.” After a pause, Dr. Sun cleared his throat. “Well, if you are headed back to the castle, would you be good enough to take this report to Her Ladyship?”
Castiel shook himself and drew a deep breath. “Yes, certainly.”
Dr. Sun took a folder off the clipboard and handed it to Castiel, then shook hands again and took his leave. But Castiel stayed where he was, still trying to reconcile the rumors of Gadreel’s treason with his willingness to drop everything to save dying humans.
“You would think I’d be used to unexpected things happening in Mechanicsburg by now,” said another unfamiliar voice-in English, with a crisp British accent. Castiel turned to find that it belonged to the young man from the cathedral. “Perhaps I never shall be.”
Castiel smiled a little. “Well, to be fair, this one didn’t come from Mechanicsburg.”
“So I gather.” The young man offered his hand. “Ardsley Wooster, British Intelligence.”
“You followed us,” Castiel surmised, shaking hands.
“Well, I could hardly help overhearing your conversation with Princess Zeetha, and I am a spy-albeit somewhat in disgrace at the moment.”
“So that was why you were in the cathedral.”
Mr. Wooster hesitated. “Would you join me for breakfast, Master Castiel?”
“I’d be glad to.”
As they walked to a café that was just opening for business, Mr. Wooster explained how he had met the current Baron Wulfenbach in Paris, become his valet, and enjoyed his job tremendously until Wulfenbach revealed that he’d known all along that Mr. Wooster was a spy. Then had come the problem of getting Lady Heterodyne out of Sturmhalten, failing to convince her to go to England, and aiding her as much as possible both by escorting her to Mechanicsburg and by delivering messages from von Mekkhan to the Jäger generals.
“I had intended to make my escape then,” he continued after the waitress took their order. “But I was still reporting to my contact when word came that the baron and Martellus von Blitzengaard had been killed and that Lady Heterodyne had defeated the baron’s forces. Elements of the report were... less than fully credible, but such rumors have the potential to destabilize the situation even further and prompt more rebellions across Europa, especially as Master Gil is as yet untested and neither he nor Lady Heterodyne has yet been acknowledged in the wider world. My superiors were furious with me for being exposed and sent me back here, and I quote, to ‘ensure that nothing else goes wrong.’”
Castiel huffed. “No doubt they chastised you for growing too close to your charges.”
Mr. Wooster blinked. “How on earth did you know that?”
“Because it happened to me. Dean had his own ideas of how to stop Lilith from starting the Apocalypse, and when I came too close to helping him succeed, my superiors claimed my loyalties had grown confused and... reeducated me.”
“I say! What rotten luck.”
“Yes, well, it didn’t stick, but I’m afraid I did some unforgivable things as a result. By the time Dean convinced me of my error, it was too late. Sam had already fallen into Lilith’s trap and freed Lucifer.”
“But... I thought you said you were an angel.”
“I was. In Our Father’s absence, my superiors had forgotten their true mission.”
“Great Scott....”
The food arrived just then, and they ate in silence for a while.
But Mr. Wooster eventually paused and said slowly, “Perhaps we can be of service to each other, Master Castiel.”
“I’m not a terribly good spy, Mr. Wooster,” Castiel replied. “And I have no intention of betraying my friends.”
“No more do I. I am quite fond of Master Gil and Lady Heterodyne, and... my sources tell me your friends helped remove The Other from Lady Heterodyne’s mind.”
“They did, yes.”
“I need some way to prove that to my superiors. Help me get it, and I shall provide all of you with identity papers to prove that you and your friends are private American citizens, traveling in Europa of your own accord-enough documentation to stand up to the scrutiny of any foreign government, including my own. Even if you all remain in Europa, there will be spies here and aboard Castle Wulfenbach who will ask questions.”
Castiel thought for a moment, then closed his eyes. “Gadreel? When you have a moment, I need your assistance. I am at the café three blocks from the hospital-and unarmed.” He opened his eyes and explained, “He may be busy.”
“Why did you mention where you are?”
“In our world, there were many angels who were angry with me, not knowing that Metatron had tricked me into aiding him with the spell to cast us all down. I have a warding tattoo that hides me from angelic senses.”
A flutter of wings announced Gadreel’s arrival, making Mr. Wooster jump. “What is it, brother?” Gadreel asked warily.
“Lady Heterodyne said something about sending a recording of Baron Wulfenbach’s last speech with the new baron and Prince Tarvek,” Castiel began. “Was it you who made that recording?”
“Er, yes.”
“Did it include the exorcism?”
“It did.”
Castiel gestured across the table to Mr. Wooster, who was still staring at Gadreel in shock. “Mr. Wooster needs a copy. He’s with British Intelligence.”
“To prove Lady Heterodyne’s innocence,” Mr. Wooster recovered enough to add when Gadreel gave him a puzzled frown.
Gadreel considered, vanished briefly, and returned with a brass sphere that he handed to Mr. Wooster. “This clank is a projector,” he explained. “Point the small circle toward a screen and press the red button to play.”
“I say,” Mr. Wooster breathed. “Thanks awfully. Do sit down, would you? We’ve your cover story to sort out yet-new identity papers, I mean.”
“I may be called away at any time,” Gadreel warned as he pulled up a chair.
“I quite understand.”
“This story may be difficult to devise. We are from another time as well as another world.”
“Let’s start,” Castiel suggested, “with surnames. Winchester, do you think?”
Gadreel looked uncomfortable. “For you, perhaps. I will take Haggerty.”
Mr. Wooster had a notepad out and jotted that down. “Ages?”
“Sam is 32,” Castiel replied. “Dean is 36. Kevin Tran is 18. I am... 41, and Gadreel....”
“This vessel was 40,” Gadreel stated.
Mr. Wooster hesitated a second before shaking his head and writing down that age. “I suppose it might be best to say that you’re all members of some kind of secret society.”
“Oh, but we are.”
Mr. Wooster looked at him in surprise. “You are?”
Gadreel smiled and looked at Castiel, who smiled back and said, “We’re Men of Letters.”
Next
[1] This is one of the few details I’ll come right out and claim as being 100% personal headcanon. (In case you don’t get the joke: Pontiac was an Ottawa chief who helped lead an anti-British uprising around Fort Detroit in the 1760s; in the 1920s, Detroit-based General Motors, which by then also included Chevrolet, launched a new car brand with the Pontiac Chief. GM discontinued the Pontiac brand in 2010.)