* * *
That night as I slept, I dreamed I was in my room, having just woken. The chambermaid had already been and had pulled open my curtains and left me fresh water, and had opened the window, for it was a fine, fragrantly warm day.
As I lay back with a contented sigh, hands folded behind my head, I noticed a sparrow perched atop my bedpost. I watched it. It watched me. Suddenly I was frightened of it, what it might do. Then it darted toward me and flew right under the collar of my nightshirt. I felt its busy compact shape settle just below my left collarbone. It stayed very still, and so did I, for its tiny claws were sharp against my bare flesh, and I knew that if I moved or tried to grab the bird, it would struggle and its beak would peck and its claws would clench.
I lay frozen, not knowing what to do, this little sparrow at my breast like a second heart.
CHAPTER 10
THE PIT
IT WAS VERY EARLY WHEN I WOKE—MY CLOCK SAID FIVE IN THE morning—yet I felt completely rested. More than that, a tremendous sense of well-being coursed through me. I clenched my right hand tightly. Not even a ghost of pain lingered in my missing fingers.
I wanted to be up. I dragged my nightshirt off, and a small shadow darted across my chest and disappeared round my back. Hardly daring to breathe, I sat very still.
There is one on me.
It must have clung to me unnoticed when we returned last night. Unease gusted across my mind but was quickly overwhelmed by a blaze of excitement.
Hurriedly I dressed and made my way to the west sitting room, which Father had stocked as our temporary library. I lit a lamp and took down the thickest, most obscure tome from the shelf.
I opened it at random and peered down at the page of tiny script. Greek, by far my weakest language. Leaning close, I touched the text with my fingers. Within my calm and ordered mind, line after line translated itself for me, telling me of the exploits of the great hero Odysseus, returning home from the Trojan War.
I withdrew my hand and sat back, breathing quickly. It was incredible! It was just like in the spirit world, when the butterfly had helped me in the Dark Library. Restlessly I closed the book and stood, pacing. I could not stop smiling. The spirit sharpened my mind. It healed my hand. What else might it do for me?
Impulsively I made my way down the grand staircase and let myself out into the courtyard. The air was pungent with the earthy smells of nighttime.
Standing still was impossible. I ran out of the courtyard and down the curving drive. As I turned onto the lake road, my energy was boundless. My strides lengthened, knees lifted high, arms knifing the air. The sky was gaining color. The road stretched out ahead of me, and I never wanted it to end. My breath was deep and tireless. I could go forever.
I lost track of how long I ran, but when I stopped, I realized I’d already reached the village of Bellerive, a good ten-minute trip by horse and cart! The sun cleared the eastern peaks, and light glittered across the surface of Lake Geneva. I began laughing with sheer joy.
With this spirit upon me, I was invincible.
* * *
Returning to the château, I stopped short at the entrance to the courtyard, for I recognized the low murmur of voices from within. I peeked around the stone wall and saw Elizabeth and Henry taking a stroll together.
My exhilaration cooled. Had Henry noticed she was an early riser and come down hoping for a few moments alone with her? I’d hardly forgotten the looks she’d bestowed on him the night before, and the way she’d rushed to his side during our duel. Could Henry actually think he had a chance at winning her?
As I watched, he passed her a folded piece of paper and said something I couldn’t hear. Elizabeth nodded and put it into her pocket, and then Henry went inside.
I waited until Elizabeth too went inside before entering the courtyard. My body had a keen appetite for breakfast, and my heart felt an altogether different kind of hunger.
* * *
“There’s something we need to discuss,” I said later, as the three of us walked toward the cottage with our picnic hamper, to check on our mud creation.
“What’s that?” Henry asked.
All morning I’d detected a slight coolness from him. No doubt he was still wary of me after our duel. And Elizabeth too had seemed more reserved than usual during breakfast and our shortened lessons with Father.
“What will happen when Konrad comes back?” I asked.
Elizabeth frowned. “How do you mean?”
“How will everyone react? Konrad walks in and says, ‘Oh, hello. I’m back,’ and… I have trouble imagining what follows. But it involves screaming and horror.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath, and I knew she hadn’t yet allowed her thoughts to explore this uncomfortable question. “There’ll be surprise at first, certainly—”
“Surprise?” I said with a laugh. “They’ll think him a ghost or demon!”
“Your parents don’t believe in such things. You know that.”
“I wasn’t thinking so much of my parents. They’ll be shocked at first, but their joy will blot out whatever doubts they might have. What mother wouldn’t welcome her beloved son back, whatever the means? No, I was thinking more of our servants, and the people of Geneva in general.”
“They won’t be so open-minded,” Henry said. “When news gets out, we’ll be accused of consorting with the devil.”
“Maybe not,” said Elizabeth hopefully. “Those with faith will see it as a miracle. Those without will see it as a… wonderful mystery. And after a few weeks…” She trailed off, at a loss.
“Our family will be reviled,” I said firmly. “It wouldn’t surprise me if a mob came to burn our home and us within it. We’d have to flee Geneva altogether, abandon our ancestral home, and try to start a new life in some far-flung barbaric place.”
Henry looked over at me sharply, alarmed no doubt at the thought of Elizabeth being torn from his life.
“That’s a drastic plan,” he said.
I almost smiled. “Indeed.” I waited a moment before saying, “There is one other plan that might work.”
The solution had presented itself to me this morning at breakfast, gleaming and perfect in my enhanced mind.
“What is it?” Elizabeth asked eagerly.
“We need to send him away at once. It’s not so draconian,” I added hurriedly, seeing the surprise and hurt on her face. “When we bring him back from the spirit world, we’ll let Mother and Father know but keep it secret from all but the most trusted servants, if any. He’ll be sent away under an assumed name. To Italy. Or even farther, preferably. Greece, perhaps, where he’ll be amply provided for, housed, schooled. He’ll grow a beard and bleach his hair and become tanned, and then when some months have passed, he’ll return to us as a distant cousin. He’ll have a new name, of course, but he’d still be Konrad and he’ll live with us happily ever after. And no one but us will know the secret!”
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then, sadly, Elizabeth remarked, “It seems too cruel, to send him away the very moment we bring him back.”
“But it’s only for a short time, so he can return to us forever.”
“Oh, I can see the cold logic of it,” she replied, looking at me with a suspicious tilt to her chin.
She knew me well, but I governed my temper. Gently I said, “I know it’s hard. But after all we’ve already suffered, it’s only a small sadness, and it’s the only practical way of guaranteeing that Konrad can rejoin us properly. Unless, of course, either of you have a better plan.”
She nodded reluctantly. “I can’t think of any better. You’re right, Victor. It seems to be the only way. Thank you.”
* * *
When I unclasped the lock and opened the cottage door, I heard a small, furtive sound, then a guilty silence. Quickly we moved inside with our picnic hamper and closed the door. I lit a lantern. What would my mud creature look like today? We walked around the table. In the hole was nothing but a tangled blanket, spattered
with blood.
“Where is he?” Elizabeth gasped.
Henry swung his lantern high, splashing light around the cottage.
“What if some animal got him?” Elizabeth cried.
“Impossible,” I said, looking all about. “Animals are frightened of it.”
“Then, where is he?” she demanded, near hysterics.
“It’s moved, that’s all. It’s just woken up and crawled…”
Could I have been wrong? Could a fox have taken him in the night?
“You said he wouldn’t wake up!” she cried, peering behind timbers.
I heard a noise from a cluttered corner and rushed over, instinctively grabbing a pitchfork. My lantern swung wildly. A pair of eyes eerily flashed back the light. Something small and swift scuttled on all fours behind a broken wheelbarrow. Cautiously I stepped closer, lantern held high, pitchfork at the ready. Cringing against the wall was the naked mud creature, its tiny face ghoulish with spattered blood.
“He’s been hurt!” Elizabeth cried at my side.
“No,” I said dully, “he’s been eating.”
Scattered all around in the dirt were the gory carcasses of small animals. Several mice had been devoured, fur and all, with nothing left but their crushed heads. A rat had been chewed open and most of its innards consumed. In the mud creature’s hands was still clutched the red and sinewy remains of what must have been a chipmunk, judging by the tail.
“Good Lord,” murmured Henry, looking distinctly ill in the lantern light.
“He was hungry!” said Elizabeth. She stepped closer and said soothingly, “Konrad, it’s all right. Don’t be frightened.”
It was the first time she’d named it, and my skin unexpectedly crawled. She hurriedly dragged the wheelbarrow out of the way, and knelt.
“There, there, my little one.”
It made a small whimper and crawled toward her. She enfolded it protectively in her arms and stood.
“Could someone please get me a cloth and some water?” she said.
Immediately Henry went to the hamper and returned with a damp cloth. I was left the task of holding the lantern so the two of them could gently wash the clotted gore from the mud creature’s face and hands.
“There now. That’s better, isn’t it?” said Elizabeth.
It had grown to the size of a three-year-old. Its skin had lightened to the color of clay fired in a kiln, but there was no longer any hint of mud about this creature. Its skin was as soft and supple as any human’s, and it looked to all appearances like a normal toddler. It yawned, and I wasn’t surprised to see that its baby teeth had come in.
“Incredible, that it could catch so many,” I said, my eyes straying back to the slaughter behind the wheelbarrow. Had it hidden and lain in wait for them as they’d sniffed about, flashing out a little fist to squeeze the life out of them? Or had it actively pursued them, crawling with supernatural speed, pouncing upon them, jaws wide?
“He was starving, Victor,” Elizabeth said impatiently. “I was afraid he might be.”
“It wasn’t supposed to wake up.”
“Well, he did.”
“This is what comes when you interfere with things,” I snapped back.
“It’s pointless to argue about it now,” she said. “We have a child that’s growing very quickly, and he’s hungry.”
“I’ll bring some milk from the hamper,” said Henry. “He must be thirsty, too.”
I exhaled in exasperation, angry with Henry for playing such a perfect nursemaid—and angry with myself, too, for I hated being proved wrong. I’d been so certain the creature wouldn’t wake again. Nor would it have, if Elizabeth hadn’t meddled with it.
At the sight of the milk bottle, the creature greedily reached for it with both hands, seized it, and pulled it to its mouth. A good deal slopped over its face and body, and Elizabeth’s dress, but it drained the bottle in short order and then looked about pleadingly for more, making an anxious whine.
Henry spread our picnic rug and hamper on the dirt floor, and Elizabeth sat down with the child on her lap. She wrapped it in a blanket and began to set out the food. From her fingers Elizabeth fed it morsels of bread, cooked ham, salted fish—and it devoured them all.
I examined it carefully, this creature formed from mud, this being I’d helped create. In the space of a single day and night, it had transformed from a baby to a toddler. It was hard to comprehend the speed of such growth, the stretch of bone and flourishing of vein and sinew and muscle. Already this creature was much larger than our little William.
Most unnerving of all, it was getting more difficult for me to think of this creature as an it when I could now see myself and my brother in its features. Mother had had a portrait of Konrad and me painted when we were three, and the resemblance was striking.
The child gave a belch, spitting up some milk and food, and pushed away the bit of apple Elizabeth was offering. I winced at the sour odor, but Henry showed no distaste as he mopped up the child’s mouth.
“Apple,” said Elizabeth, bobbing one before it. “Apple.”
The mud child’s eyes followed the piece of fruit, but there was a curious blankness to its gaze.
“It’s nothing but appetite and impulse,” I said. “There’s no point trying to teach it anything.”
Elizabeth frowned at me, as though I might have hurt the creature’s feelings. “He has every part a person should have, except a soul. Learning will help him, surely. And I don’t see how it can hurt.”
She sang a silly nursery song to it, and its dark eyes widened slightly.
“This is a rather good one,” said Henry, and recited a nonsense poem I remembered from my own childhood.
The child seemed suddenly restless, and squirmed from Elizabeth’s lap. In a second it had crawled over to Henry and was reaching up for him. Henry laughed with undisguised pleasure.
“He appreciates fine verse,” he said.
“As do many of us,” Elizabeth said, and chuckled.
Henry took hold of the child’s hands, and it pulled itself up to standing.
“Its legs are strong,” I said, though it should have come as no surprise. This same strange child had chased down mice and rats and killed with its tiny fists.
“He’ll be walking soon,” Elizabeth said proudly.
“Very soon,” I agreed, wondering if it would occur to the mud child to try to escape the cottage.
“You still think it humane, or safe, to keep him here?” Elizabeth asked me, with her chin at a challenging tilt.
I looked at the child carefully, at the lack of expression in its eyes, and I truly thought it was an empty vessel. “It seems it wakes only to eat,” I said. “We’ll leave all the food and water beside the hole. If it wakes again, it’ll have more than enough to keep it until we visit tomorrow.”
As if to corroborate my claim, the child’s eyelids were already drooping with fatigue, and it crumpled asleep into Henry’s arms.
“I’ll settle him, then,” said Henry, placing the child’s naked body carefully back in the hole.
Elizabeth was ready with the blanket, and tucked it carefully all around. Then she went back to the hamper and returned with an old doll of Ernest’s, a uniformed man made of soft felt.
“It doesn’t need that,” I said.
She knelt at the edge of the hole and slipped the doll under the blanket, against its chest.
A small crease appeared in the mud child’s forehead as its nostrils twitched, then flared, inhaling deeply. Then it exhaled and slumbered blissfully beneath its blanket.
* * *
As we entered our house, our housekeeper Maria was scudding like a storm cloud through the hall.
“Is anything the matter?” I asked.
The corners of her mouth turned down. “It seems they’ve discovered something else beneath the house now. I heard one of the workers muttering something about bones. I don’t know why your father allows this, now of all times.”
??
?Where’s the professor?” I asked.
“Upstairs talking to your father, I believe,” she said.
We hurried to his study and knocked on the door.
“Ah,” said Father, admitting us, “your timing is uncanny. You’ll have an enthusiastic audience, Professor.”
The professor’s face was blanched with grit, but through the chalky dust I could see a brushstroke of high color in each cheek. He was pacing, and his bearlike chest swelled with barely restrained enthusiasm.
“What’s been discovered?” I asked.
“Something momentous,” he said. “I was just about to escort your father.”
My stomach was knotted with excitement as we made the descent into the caves. It was an altogether different world from our previous visit. The place was lit as brightly as a Geneva street. As we ventured through the wondrous galleries of horses, bulls, and stags, we passed artists at easels, sketching.
“They’re in heaven,” the professor said with a laugh. “They say they’ve never seen images so vital. Their work could fill the Louvre already.”
Farther along one young scholar tapped at the rock with a small hammer, collecting shards, while another stood upon a ladder, examining the soot marks upon the ceiling. We passed the bear and the sly tiger, and when the passage branched, I felt an eerie lack of surprise when the professor chose the same route I had taken in the spirit world. I noticed that a rope had been staked into the wall, guiding us, turning by turning, to the high-domed chamber in which towered the giant brushstroke man.
“Extraordinary!” my father exclaimed, and I made sure to make a gasp of amazement, to conceal the fact that I had visited this chamber before.
“A human figure at last,” the professor said proudly, “and what a colossus he is!”
The chamber was brightly illuminated, and yet when I glanced at Elizabeth, her expression was uneasy, and Henry’s eyes were fixed intently on the passageway that slanted steeply downward.
“Who was this fellow, do you think?” my father asked.
“Clearly someone held in great regard,” the professor replied. “Those markings underneath no doubt have a tale to tell.”