This Dark Endeavour (with Bonus Material) (29 page)

We all faltered. Henry took a step back. On the floor of the cockpit the vial rolled to and fro. Krake’s eyes impaled it. Before I could make a move, Elizabeth ran for it. The lynx pounced, slamming against her legs and knocking her off her feet. With one paw he swiped at her face. She raised her arm to ward off the blow, but not quickly enough. She gave a cry. I saw bloody claw marks across her cheek.

I let go the tiller and lunged at Krake, but in one supple move he avoided me and scooped the vial into his jaws.

“No!” I gasped, as the beast nimbly vaulted onto the cabin roof. I looked over at Elizabeth. “Are you all right?”

“He wants the elixir for Polidori!” she shouted. “Look how he holds it in his mouth!”

I too saw how the fiendish beast did not chew the vial but with his tongue pushed it delicately to one side. He was as wicked and clever as a witch’s familiar. He’d sat before the hearth, mesmerized by the hiss of his master’s voice snaking up the chimney—and received his orders.

Krake looked now in all directions as if trying to decide which way was closest to land.

“He means to jump!” I cried. “Elizabeth, take the tiller!”

Overmastered by my panic and anger, I hurled myself again at the lynx, knowing he would fight me tooth and claw. But I had tooth and claw too, and meant to use them. Krake seemed to sense my bloody resolve, and darted toward the bow.

I scrambled after him. “Come here, you overgrown puss!”

Henry reached the lynx first and threw his body on top of him. Krake snarled and scratched, and the vial fell from his mouth and rolled along the deck toward the starboard side. I watched in horror as it knocked against the low railing. A good jostle would send it into the lake.

Henry was trying his best to grip Krake around the neck, but the lynx suddenly made himself skinny and squirted through his arms. The cat looked around wildly. I cursed myself for wasting time, and lunged now for the vial. But the lynx streaked by and once more took it in his mouth—

And jumped into the black water.

I had time only to shout “Heave to!” before I threw myself over the side. It was like plunging into night, so silky and dark was it beneath the surface. I came up, treading water, casting about, trying to spot Krake.

“Where is he?” I shouted back to the boat.

“There! There!” cried Henry, pointing.

I looked and caught sight of the slick hump of Krake’s head, so low to the surface that it was almost impossible to track. He swam with surprising speed, and I started after him, pulling and kicking hard. After the glacial coelacanth pool, I scarcely noticed the coldness. In the moonlight I saw Krake outstripping me.

My spirit faltered, and I felt a great grief well up inside me and weaken me further. We had lost the elixir. We had failed.
I
had failed.

Then I heard the low gurgle of a hull moving through water, and turned to see the boat slice past me, Elizabeth at the tiller and Henry in the prow, spotting, speeding after Krake. Then, when they were abreast of him, Elizabeth let the sails luff. I saw her bend down and from the cockpit throw one of the fishermen’s
nets. It flew beautifully, unfurling in the moonlight and settling over a large patch of the water, like a great web.

“We have him!” she cried. “Henry, help me pull!”

Within the net thrashed Krake as he was dragged back toward the boat. The sight charged me with hope, and I swam hard, barely noticing the pain in my hand. Elizabeth and Henry hauled Krake alongside the hull and tied the net tightly to the starboard cleats so that the lynx hung suspended just above the water’s surface.

Breathless, I reached the boat, and Henry helped me aboard. I was streaming wet.

Elizabeth fetched more lanterns and lit them so we could see the sodden lynx properly, his green eyes flashing malevolently.

“He still holds the vial!” cried Elizabeth. “It’s unbroken!”

I saw it, tossing about in the lynx’s mouth as he yowled bale-fully at us.

“Bring him aboard,” I said, worried he might drop it into the lake.

“I’m reluctant,” said Henry, but he pulled with Elizabeth and me.

Krake tumbled into the cockpit, thrashing and spitting. He could not get very far, so entangled was he in the net, but we all stepped up onto the bench seats, just to keep our feet clear of him.

“How will we get it out?” Elizabeth murmured.

“If we strike him too hard, he might crack it,” Henry said.

The lynx’s eyes, all this time, flickered between us, and I had the uncanny feeling he understood our talk. Slowly, almost smugly, he closed his mouth—and swallowed.

“No!” I cried.

Krake did not have an easy time of it. He gagged and hacked, but when his mouth opened once more, the vial was gone. His unnerving green eyes settled on me, and I could have sworn he smirked.

“The fiend!” gasped Henry. “How do we get it out now?”

Elizabeth and I looked at each other—and I knew the same idea had just occurred to us simultaneously.

“I saw a knife in the cabin,” she said.

“Yes,” I answered.

I did not want to waste a moment. Within Krake’s stomach the vial’s stopper might come loose—and then we would have a very, very healthy and powerful lynx aboard our boat.

I hurried below with a lantern and looked about the cramped cabin. Amid the jumble I found a harpoon, and a deboning knife. I took them up onto the deck.

The moment Krake beheld me, he knew. Immediately his eyes became as docile and beseeching as a kitten’s. He strained through the netting with his paws, and made a mewing sound so pitiful that I felt myself falter. He had saved our lives once, in the Sturmwald.

All part of Polidori’s dark design, I reminded myself.

I forced my mind to be still, my limbs to steady. I breathed deeply and took the harpoon in my hands.

Kill him.

I could not stab him in the heart, for the heart, I knew, was perilously close to the stomach—and in Krake’s stomach was the glass vial.

So I raised my harpoon and struck him in his neck.

He yowled and writhed most terribly, but I struck him again, harder. I felt a stranger to myself, but strangely powerful too.

With each blow the smell of blood reached my nostrils and sharpened my animal instincts. I was dimly aware of making a sound, a kind of low growl in my throat. And then Krake moved no more.

My flanks heaved as I caught my breath. I knelt and began to untangle the lynx’s body from the net. Elizabeth joined me, and together we laid the creature’s limp body out on the cockpit floor.

I took up the knife and slit Krake from throat to belly. Hot viscera spilled out, and with it a penetrating stench. I saw Henry turn away, and I heard his miserable retching sounds. I looked at Elizabeth and saw she was steady.

Amid all the blood, it was difficult at first to identify the organs.

“Here is the esophagus,” said Elizabeth, fearlessly tracing the muscular tube to a sac, pushing aside tissue and pulp. “And this must be the stomach.”

I made an incision, and our hands reached together into the creature’s hot innards, handling the contents of its stomach.

I glanced at her, and saw her face not battling revulsion but alive—excited, even.

“I have it!” she gasped. “I think I have it!”

And she pulled out from the gory mess a vial, still stoppered, still intact.

Tears of relief and joy rushed from her eyes, and we embraced. I wished, even in our bloody grip, that her arms would never release me.

But this time it was I who pulled away first, for in my head was the ticking of a great clock—or perhaps a great heartbeat. We had lost time.

“We need to get back to Konrad,” I said.

We heaved Krake’s remains into the lake, hurriedly shoved the net back into the cabin, and trimmed our sails. We ran with the wind, and it wasn’t long before I could see the outline of our chateau and the pale flicker of candlelight in Konrad’s room, where I knew either Mother or Maria would be at his bedside, watching over him.

We tied up at the dock, rushed into the boathouse, and thumped on the chateau door until it was opened by Celeste, one of our maids. She was in her nightgown and cap, holding a candle—and she looked upon us with horror, her hand flying up to her mouth to stifle a scream.

I suddenly remembered that I was soaked to the skin, and Elizabeth and I were both spattered with Krake’s gore. “It’s all right, Celeste.”

“Master Victor … where have you three been? What has happened?”

“I’ll explain later.”

We hurried inside, upstairs to Konrad’s bedchamber. Outside the door I faltered. I did not know what I would say if Mother was there. How would I explain? What if she refused to allow us to give him the elixir?

I opened the door silently and peered inside. To my immense relief it was Maria who sat dozing in a chair near Konrad’s bed.

The three of us slipped inside.

Konrad was asleep, so waxy pale and still that I worried we were too late. But then I saw the weak rise and fall of his chest. As we drew to his bedside, Maria stirred, and her eyes opened
and widened at the sight of us. She drew in her breath sharply, perhaps not sure if this were a nightmare.

“Don’t be afraid,” I said quietly. “All’s well. We have the elixir.”

From her pocket Elizabeth took the vial, the leather covering still crusted with Krake’s blood.

“I scarcely know what to think,” Maria said. “How—?”

“We completed the final preparations with Julius Polidori,” Elizabeth told her.

“What happened to your hand?” Maria asked suddenly, seeing the frayed bandages.

“That doesn’t matter right now,” I said. “Where is Mother?”

“I sent her to bed a few hours ago—she is exhausted beyond all endurance.”

I nodded. “Now is the time to do it, then.”

“Wait,” said Maria, her brow furrowed. “What if it should do him harm? I could never forgive myself.”

“He barely breathes,” Elizabeth said, taking Konrad’s limp hand in her own. “We must try it—and pray.”

Maria nodded once reluctantly, then again with more decision. “Yes, bring him back, Victor.”

Elizabeth propped another pillow under my brother’s head.

“Konrad,” she said softly, “we have new medicine for you. Wake and take it.”

He would not wake.

“We must administer it ourselves,” I said.

I opened the vial. Elizabeth parted his lips carefully. I placed a small drop of the elixir on his tongue. I watched it trickle down into his throat. In his slumber he made a murmuring sound and swallowed. Only then did I release more onto his tongue.

Drop by drop I gave him the Elixir of Life. It took a full half hour. I dared not rush it, for fear he might gag or spit it out.

When the last drop was gone I looked at Henry and Elizabeth. I had never felt so tired in my life.

“It’s done,” I said. “All that we could do, is done.”

Elizabeth brushed Konrad’s lank hair back from his forehead, and he stirred again and this time his eyes opened.

“Konrad,” I said.

He looked at me calmly, and with complete awareness, then at Henry, and finally at Elizabeth. He smiled, his eyes drooped shut, and he slept again.

Henry staggered off to get some sleep, and Elizabeth and I went to Father’s study. I opened his medicine chest. I poured a measure of disinfectant onto a wad of cotton and carefully cleaned the wounds on Elizabeth’s face.

She was brave and did not flinch. It was a mercy the cuts were not deep. Only the very tips of Krake’s claws seemed to have caught her tawny flesh.

“It’s not serious,” I said. “I do not think they need suturing.”

They still bled slowly, so I cut a piece of gauze and taped it delicately to her cheek. “There.”

“Thank you,” she said. “How is your hand?”

“It does not hurt much.” She took my hand in hers and unwound the bandages.

“Is it hideous?” I asked, gazing upon it with a curious lack of feeling.

“No. It is heroic.”

From Father’s desk she took clean bandage and wound it around the stumps of my missing fingers.

“What will we tell Mother?” she said calmly.

“I don’t know.”

I felt like we were both dreamwalking, beyond our bodies, watching ourselves.

“How long will it take to work?” she asked.

It took a moment for me to realize she was talking about the elixir.

“Surely it must start at once.”

“I only hope we were in time,” she said. “He seemed so still.”

I could see she wanted reassurance. “He woke the moment he imbibed it.”

“He looked at us with complete understanding,” she said hopefully.

“Yes. He is already being healed.”

She yawned. “We should rest.”

“Yes. We should rest.”

W
hen I woke, my windows were ablaze, for I’d forgotten to draw the curtains. I hadn’t planned to sleep but only to wait for the dawn, when I could check on Konrad.

I leapt out of bed. It must have been close to noon. A servant had left water in a basin, removed my soaked and bloodied clothes, and laid out a fresh set for me. I hurriedly washed and dressed, then rushed down the corridor to Konrad’s bedchamber. The door was ajar, and when I slipped inside, I saw a room bright with sunshine, fragrant with the smell of fresh flowers and linens—and Konrad sitting up in bed, smiling and chatting with Mother and Elizabeth while eating some soup.

At first they did not see me, and for a long moment I could only stare in delight and wonder.

It had worked! It had not been in vain.

“You’re better!” I cried.

“Good morning, Victor,” my brother said.

Elizabeth looked at me, beaming.

“The fever is certainly gone,” said Mother. “He is still weak, but altogether much improved.”

Any puzzlement or anger Mother might have felt to see us back at the chateau had clearly been obliterated by her happiness at Konrad’s recovery. I drew my right hand into my ruffled sleeve, for I was unsure how much Mother or Konrad already knew, and didn’t want to upset anyone right now. I saw, however, that Elizabeth still wore the bandage on her cheek, so she must have made some explanation—how truthful, I didn’t know.