This Dark Endeavour (with Bonus Material) (15 page)

Once more he led us down the malodorous corridor to the elevator. Krake was again made to wait beyond the threshold, a rather resentful look on his face.

“Krake is very clever,” I said. “How did he manage to find us in the Sturmwald?”

Polidori began to lower us to the cellars. “Young master, did you not know that in many mythologies the lynx is known as Keeper of the Secrets of the Forest?”

My skin prickled. Some small, insistent part of me had wondered if Krake’s surprising abilities could be explained by mere animal intelligence alone.

“Is that so?” I said. “Keeper of the Secrets of the Forest.”

“Indeed. In medieval times there are accounts of how the lynx could dig a hole, urinate in it, cover it with dust—and in several days’ time produce a gemstone. Garnet, actually. Some also thought the lynx capable of assisting in clairvoyance and divination.”

The alchemist turned to me with a grin. “But all that is mere fancy, young sir.”

“Ah,” I said, relieved and disappointed both.

“Krake is merely very well trained. I confess that in his infancy I did feed him plants and oils that are well known to assist the mental faculties of humans. So he may be more intelligent than most of his species, but as for him finding you in the
Sturmwald, I knew you would be there on the new moon, so I let Krake out that night and told him to find you.”

“Incredible,” said Elizabeth. “He understands what you say!”

“Well, let’s just say a lynx’s sense of smell is very keen. He found you by scent.”

“He saved us from some bearded vultures,” Henry said.

Polidori looked over in surprise. “In the same tree as the lichen?”

“They had a nest,” said Elizabeth. “Three of them.”

He looked genuinely distressed. “Young lady and sirs, I am sorry your job was made so complicated. They are fearsome creatures.”

“Oh, we managed it,” said Henry breezily.

“I had little doubt you would,” said Polidori. “Here we are.”

After lighting candles about the laboratory, Polidori drew us to a desk strewn with books and quills and inkwells. This, I gathered, was where he was doing his translation. He took up a bit of parchment, squinting at it through his spectacles.

“What language is that?” I asked, peering over his shoulder.

Polidori lowered the paper with a small smile. “That is my own handwriting. But you are right. It is illegible, even to me sometimes. Now, here is the translation. There is a lengthy preamble—fear not, I won’t read it—and then the thing itself that you must acquire.” He looked up. “A Gnathostomatus.”

“What in heaven’s name is that?” Elizabeth asked.

“Gnathostomatus,” I muttered, furiously dragging open the drawers of my mind, riffling through their contents, trying to remember my lessons. “It is from the Greek? Ha!
Gnathos
is ‘jaw.’
Stoma,
‘mouth.’ It is a group of animals—vertebrates with jaws, yes?”

I stole a look at Elizabeth, hoping to see admiration in her eyes, and was not disappointed.

Polidori nodded. “Very good. You have been taught well. Who is your teacher?”

My eyes shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, a wise old fellow hired by our parents.”

“A
jawed
creature,” Henry said uneasily. “It is rather vague.”

“Indeed, but the text becomes more specific, you see. The creature you seek is the oldest of its lineage. It is an aquatic creature. The coelacanth. You have heard of it?”

I had indeed, and my heart contracted.

“Then our task is at an end,” I murmured. “We’re undone.”

“Why?” Elizabeth said, turning to me in alarm. “Why do you say that, Victor?”

I gave a mirthless laugh. “Ah, this is one lecture you missed.”

“The creature is extinct,” said Henry, for he too had heard Father’s lesson and gazed at the engraving of a fossilized specimen. It had swum with the terrible lizards, millions of years ago, but had not been seen alive for centuries.

“Surely there must be somewhere—” Elizabeth began hopefully.

“Search the world,” I said. “It will not be found.”

We had risked our lives in the heights of the Sturmwald to obtain the lunar lichen. How cruel that our hopes were to be dashed this easily.

“You despair too soon, young sir,” said Polidori.

“How so?” I said. “Does it give an alternative ingredient?”

“It does not,” said the alchemist. “But the coelacanth is
not
extinct. It is a Lazarus taxon.”

This meant nothing to me, and I looked from Henry to
Elizabeth in bewilderment. To my surprise, Elizabeth was smiling.

“Victor,” she said, “your Bible reading really is very poor. Lazarus was the man whom Christ raised from the dead.”

“Yes,” said Polidori, “‘Lazarus taxon’ is the name scholars have given to species that were once
thought
extinct. But then, lo and behold, one is found in the East Indies, or off the shores of Africa.”

“Must we travel so far?” I said, discouraged, but already wondering how such a journey could be undertaken.

“Lake Geneva will suffice,” said Polidori.

“Are you serious?” I demanded.

“Truly I am,” he said. “I know a fisherman who has seen one.”

“Do you trust this fellow?” Henry asked.

Polidori nodded. “And I will show you why.” Quickly he wheeled his chair to a large armoire. He opened it and with both hands extracted a long glass case. Inside was a startlingly blue fish, some two feet in length, with a great many fins.

My heart leapt, and I heard Henry draw in his breath, for it was the very image of the etching Father had shown us.

“Why did you not tell us you already had one!” I exclaimed.

“Because it is of no use,” Polidori told me, sharply enough that I felt rebuked. “It is dead two years. It has dried up.” He tapped the parchment on his lap. “What is needed from this creature is the foul oil it exudes when alive. It renders the fish inedible. Fishermen have no use for them. But the oils from the fish’s head contain nourishing and miraculous substances that are needed for the elixir.”

“They live in our own lake!” cried Elizabeth, looking at me happily and grasping my hands.

“I am told they can grow to six feet in length,” said Polidori. “Powerful creatures. This one of mine is small. A baby. And where there are babies, there are adults to make them.”

“Let us go at once, then,” said Elizabeth, “and charter a boat to trawl the waters!”

“It will not be so easy,” said Polidori gravely. “When I spoke to the fisherman, he said this was the only one of its kind spotted in fifty years. They are not usually caught in nets. They live deep. They crave the cold. And the dark. You might fish for months and years without catching one.”

“Then we’ll go deeper,” said Elizabeth with steely determination. “Where this fish lives, we will find it.”

“Can we not just send Krake to get us one?” said Henry with a feeble laugh.

“There are diving bells that can take a man to great depths,” I said, thinking aloud.

“That might not be necessary,” said Polidori.

We all looked at him expectantly.

“These fish fear daylight so much, even the bottom of the lake is not dark enough for them. There are, I’m told, narrow fissures that lead to subterranean caves where they take refuge.”

“But to find these caves underwater—” Henry began with a frown.

“Would be near impossible,” I interrupted. “Unless there was another entrance from above ground.”

“Just so,” Polidori said. “The mountains that encircle our great lake are mazed with caves. They go deep.”

“Has anyone you know made such a descent?” Elizabeth asked.

“Indeed,” said Polidori. “But he’s now dead.”

“What happened to him?” asked Henry nervously.

“He made one too many trips into the depths,” said Polidori. “He was an explorer, a mapmaker.” He paused and looked at me. “But I believe his widow still lives just outside the city.”

“Then we must pay her a visit,” I said.

Polidori escorted us back upstairs, and as we were departing his shop, he called me back. “Young sir, a word, if I might.”

Elizabeth and Henry waited for me outside in the alley.

“I’m not ignorant of the fact that these are difficult tasks,” Polidori said kindly. “And I know my help is limited. But I do have something that might, shall we say, brighten an underground descent.”

“Thank you very much,” I said, curious to know what it was.

“You created the vision of the wolf successfully, yes?”

“I did.”

“I had little doubt.”

He seemed to be looking deep into me. I couldn’t help feeling he was pleased by what he saw. “And I’m guessing that alongside Agrippa and Paracelsus, you might have some other books of a practical nature within your reach.”

I looked at him, wondering if he were going to ask for them.

“If so,” he said, “you might want to consult Eisenstein. If you care to try your skills once more.”

Once more into the Dark Library in the witching hour.

I’d tried to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes I saw Elizabeth, and imagined it was me and not Konrad touching her. I’d stroke her cheek, and then bend to kiss her full
mouth … and I couldn’t bear it anymore, so I’d hurriedly got out of bed, needing to distract my mind—and glad I had some work to throw myself into.

In the library I spent nearly an hour peering at dusty volumes, until I found the right one, a slim green book with only the red initial
E
tooled in the spine.

Ludvidicus Eisenstein.

To my great relief the text was written in English. I began turning the gossamer-like pages, not exactly sure what I was looking for. My eyes skimmed the headings, surprised by how banal they were:

My eyes lingered on the page, dancing down the list of ingredients. But I forced myself onward, and shortly came to a page headed: “Preparation of the Flameless Fire.”

I read on. This must be what Polidori had meant for me to find. An unquenchable source of light in the darkness. He had singled me out. He sensed I had a special aptitude, that I could create this substance on my own.

Imagine the look on Konrad’s face when he beheld it.

Imagine Elizabeth’s admiration.

I slipped the book under my robe, returned to my bedchamber, and slept deeply.

I am a thief.

In the afternoon Elizabeth left Konrad a secret note—and I stole it.

By sheer chance I was passing by the library, and through the leaded glass in the door I saw her drop a bit of folded paper into the Oriental vase. Just as she turned to look furtively about, I moved quickly past the window. I hurried down the hallway, rounded a corner and waited until I heard her shut the door behind her. Her footsteps faded.

I returned to the library. At the vase’s bottom was the note.

It was not for me, but I scooped it out and slid it into my pocket.

I did not read it at once, for I felt stricken with guilt. But as I changed for dinner, curiosity and jealousy got the better of me. I unfolded the paper.

It said, Will you meet me at midnight in the library?

Later I lay sleeplessly in my bed. The church bells tolled eleven. I did not know what I should do.

I lie. I know exactly what I shall do.

I saw her dark form by the window, looking out over the lake. She had no candle with her, and the moon and stars were veiled by cloud, so the room was very dark.

Through my veins I felt the same animal desire I’d had for her in the Sturmwald, when we were both wolves. I went to her. We were shadows to each other. I could not even see her
eyes. I felt her warm hand take mine, and my heart quickened.

“I had a dream last night,” she said, “of our wedding night.”

I chuckled like Konrad to disguise my shock. Already they were talking of marriage? How long had I been so idiotically blind?

“Tell me,” I whispered, and stroked her hair. I had seen Konrad do it, so I could do it too. As children, I had touched Elizabeth’s hair many times, yanking mostly. But this was the first time I had
caressed
it. Her amber mane was so soft—and yet so thick and curly. It had a spirit and wildness to it—a perfect complement to her personality.

“How old were we?” I dared to ask, hoping my voice was not so different from Konrad’s. I needn’t have worried. She wanted and expected Konrad, and so that was who she had before her. I hardly felt myself. In the dark I could be whoever I wanted.

“Not so much older than now,” Elizabeth whispered. “Perhaps twenty.”

In the darkness I blushed to think of our wedding night, and the pleasure it would hold. But then my thoughts soured, for it was not to be
my
wedding. I should have been glad to imagine Konrad, alive and fully recovered from his illness. But the thought of
him
wedded to Elizabeth was horrible to me. And her next words only amplified my wretchedness.

“I’ve never felt such joy as in that dream,” she said. “Everything was so clear. The inside of the chapel. The light streaming through the stained glass. My dress. I could describe every detail—but don’t worry. I know that would bore you to tears. Victor was your best man, and Mother and Father were there, and Henry, Ernest, and little William. I saw it all, as vivid as a painting, and
felt
it all, as though I truly lived it.

“But there was something else.” She sounded troubled now.

I felt her other hand touch mine, and this one was icy.

“As we stood on the altar, before we were to be joined forever, my joy was poisoned by a terrible sense of dread. And I heard a voice …” Her words trailed off.

“It’s all right,” I murmured. “If it upsets you, don’t speak of it.”

“It was a most malignant voice, one I have never heard, and it said,
I shall be with you on your wedding night.
”

I shivered at the words, so full of menace were they.

She leaned her head against my chest. “You’re so healthy now. I can’t believe you would ever be otherwise. You must live. It would kill me if—”