A Monster's Coming of Age Story

by G. D. Falksen

  Iosef looked amused for a moment.

  “The images in the Codex will mean nothing to you,” he said. “Even if they do, it does not matter to me. The contents of the journal are no secret I wish to conceal. Read it, if you like.”

  “Thank you, but no,” Babette said. “I suspect its contents would mean no more to me than these sigils.”

  “Rather the point, I think,” Korbinian said.

  Babette began copying the images as precisely as she could.

  “Tell me, sir,” she said, “where are you from? I do not recognize your accent.”

  “I am from Georgia,” Iosef said. “Whereas you, Fräulein, are from France, the north of France, if I am correct. You are also very accustomed to speaking English. I recognize both strains in your accent.”

  Babette smiled a little and said, “Most impressive, sir.”

  “I do my best.”

  Babette moved to the next page and continued, “Georgia, you say. That is in Russia, is it not?”

  “For the time being,” Iosef replied. “It is a recent condition of geography.”

  “What is your land like?”

  Iosef took a deep breath and looked off into the distance.

  “It is very beautiful,” he said. “Words cannot do it justice. But perhaps you will visit it someday.”

  “That has the sound of an invitation,” Korbinian said.

  “Perhaps I shall,” Babette said.

  As she spoke, she had no idea how correct she was.

  * * * *

  William removed his hat as he entered the coffee house and sniffed at the air cautiously. He disliked coffee as a rule. It was too pungent an odor for his liking, and its smell was too stale and bitter besides. And, as a well-bred Englishman, he knew that tea was a far more civilized drink.

  He spotted Niccolo immediately. The Venetian sat on his own at a table in the back, nursing a cup of the bean poison as only a Continental could. William approached his friend and sat down without a word.

  “William, wonderful to see you,” Niccolo said. “Coffee?”

  “I would rather die,” William said, but he smiled nonetheless.

  “I see you received my letter.”

  “Yes,” William said. “What is this about, Niccolo? I should be minding my granddaughter at the Hofbibliothek. Why am I here, in this place, which smells of that?”

  This last question was directed at the cup in front of Niccolo.

  “Oh, William.” Niccolo laughed. “I shall never understand your peculiar tastes. But as to the business, it concerns your granddaughter. And it is most serious.”

  “I know it must be serious to have brought you here to Vienna,” William said.

  Niccolo raised his hands quickly and said, “Actually, I am here for another matter entirely, but I am glad that we are in the same city. I prefer to tell you myself.”

  “Well, what is it?” William asked, growing impatient.

  “Word from my spies in France,” Niccolo said. “The des Louveteaux have been busy in your absence.”

  “I know this,” William said. His own spies had told him as much. “I am aware of their slander toward Babette’s late fiancé.”

  “And you are aware that Alfonse des Louveteaux remains unmarried?” Niccolo asked. “That he has yet to begin courting another young lady?”

  “Not courting?”

  William let out a breath and frowned. That was unlike Alfonse and most unlike his father. He had hoped that in Babette’s absence they would turn their eyes to another. But if they had not, it could only mean one thing.

  “Alfonse is waiting for Babette to return,” he said. “He still intends to marry her.”

  “That is what I suspect,” Niccolo said. “Can he achieve it?”

  “He can try,” William said. “The des Louveteaux have a great deal of influence. Babette will not want him, but the des Louveteaux will apply all the pressure they can. And unfortunately, her father thinks highly of them. He believes that Alfonse is a good match.”

  Niccolo put his cup down in shock, spilling some of the coffee onto the table.

  “Is your son a fool?” he asked. After a moment’s consideration, he answered his own question, “Yes, yes he is.”

  “He is a man of Society,” William said. “He believes their lies.”

  Niccolo leaned forward and said, “William, my friend, I urge you, let me kill them.”

  “Niccolo—”

  “The whole family! Free of charge! I will do it myself!” Niccolo gripped William’s hand tightly. “Only do not let them bring this ruination upon your house!”

  “Would that I could, Niccolo,” William said. “And I thank you for the offer, my dear, dear friend. But I cannot. There are considerations that I dare not speak of.”

  Niccolo sighed. “As you wish, William. But you are too soft on them. Men like the des Louveteaux understand nothing but power. If they believe they hold power over you, they will squeeze you until you are dry. You must break them, William. You must show them who is the boss.”

  “In due time, Niccolo,” William said. “Believe me, I understand this better than you know.”

  Niccolo frowned and drank his coffee.

  “Then what will you do, William, if you will not kill them?” he asked.

  William considered the question for a long time. Finally, he said, half to himself, half to Niccolo:

  “I must keep her away from France. The longer Alfonse cannot court her, the more likely he is to give up and pursue another.”

  That was the answer. Babette had to stay abroad without raising suspicions. And thankfully, Babette’s well-known predilections gave William the one most ideal excuse he needed. With another woman it might have raised suspicions as well as eyebrows, but with Babette the response would be scandal rather than suspicion.

  He would send her to school.

  Chapter Sixteen

  One day, not longer after her encounter with Lord Shashavani, Babette was summoned to the room in their hotel suite that Grandfather had appointed as his office. It was spacious and opulent, like everything in the hotel, with a pleasant window view of the avenue below. Babette had seen it only once before, when they first arrived in Vienna—Grandfather was very particular about the sanctity of his private space—but she immediately felt at home amid the towering bookshelves.

  Babette entered cautiously, first rapping her knuckles against the half-open door to announce her arrival. She saw Grandfather seated at his desk, which had been neatly organized in spite of several noticeable stacks of paper. With the volume of correspondence that Grandfather received, a lesser man might well have succumbed to the onslaught and allowed the paperwork to transform into a disorganized heap. But Grandfather demanded too much structure in his life to allow such a thing to happen.

  “You sent for me, Grandfather?” Babette asked, unconsciously bowing her head to him for a moment.

  “Yes, yes,” Grandfather said, setting aside some papers. “Come in my dear. Close the door behind you, there’s a good girl.”

  Babette did as she was bidden and looked about for a seat. The first chair she turned toward was already occupied by Korbinian, so she pulled another chair up from the far corner of the room and sat in it. Grandfather looked at her curiously but did not comment.

  “Ah, Babette,” Grandfather said, “you look quite lovely today. Quite lovely indeed.”

  “Thank you,” Babette said, blushing a little. Grandfather was seldom free with his compliments.

  “I told you that the green was a good choice this morning,” Korbinian told her. “And to think, you were actually considering that monstrosity in mauve.”

  Babette shot Korbinian a look to silence him, though she felt herself smiling. He was such a charming rogue, in death as in life.

  “I trust you have been enjoying our stay in Vienna,” Grandfather said.

  “Oh yes, Grandfather.” Babette nodded quickly. “The whole excursion has been a great satisfaction to me. I
scarcely want it to end.”

  Grandfather frowned deeply and said, “Yes, I know. Alas, end it must, and soon. I fear that I have left matters of business in the hands of my Parisian agents for long enough. Much longer and they might begin to damage the company. Managers, as you know, cannot be trusted to manage anything.”

  “That is a shame, Grandfather,” Babette said. “But perhaps I might be permitted to remain here only a little longer? I am certain that my presence in France would be quite unnecessary at least until spring.”

  “Oh, Babette,” Grandfather said, laughing loudly. “Oh, you incorrigible child. No, I fear that for you to remain on this extended holiday would soon raise suspicions. After all, you cannot expect Society to take seriously the claim that you are still in mourning for a man that you had not even married.”

  “Such callous words,” Korbinian said. “Oh, how they wound me!”

  Babette covered her mouth with her hand for a moment and hissed a “shhh!” in Korbinian’s direction.

  “Yes, of course, shhhsh me,” Korbinian said, throwing up his hands in mock despair. “Why should anyone care what the dead man has to say?”

  “I suppose that is true, Grandfather,” Babette said. “But whatever Society thinks, I do still love him.”

  “And mourn him,” Korbinian reminded her.

  “And mourn him,” Babette said quickly. Good of Korbinian to remember that. From time to time, Babette forgot that to all the world save her he was dead and gone.

  “Beg his forgiveness,” Korbinian said.

  Babette eyed Korbinian dubiously and said, “Grandfather, I beg your forgiveness—”

  “But,” Korbinian said.

  “But—” Babette repeated.

  “You have no wish to be thrown back into the mire of courtship,” Korbinian finished. “Do you?”

  Ah, so that was what he was getting at. Suddenly it made sense.

  “But I have no wish to be thrown back into the mire of courtship,” Babette said, “least of all where I can be stalked like game by the likes of Alfonse des Louveteaux.” After a moment, she quickly added, “I do hope you will forgive my candor, Grandfather; it is just that you are the one person who I think will understand my distain for that which I am asked to do.”

  Grandfather nodded slowly and said, “Yes, Babette, I understand. That is why I have asked you here today, without your father. You see, I suspected as much, and I have no wish to force you back into ‘the mire of courtship’, as you so charmingly put it.”

  “Thank you, Grandfather,” Babette said.

  “But,” Grandfather continued, his voice becoming stern, “if you are to be exempted from your appointed lot in life, there must be a good reason. You cannot simply return to Normandy and live out your life as a spinster. I would never hear the end of it.” He paused for a short while and then said, very seriously, “Babette, I have decided that you are to go to school. Does this agree with you?”

  “School?” Babette asked.

  “Yes,” Grandfather said, “to a university for a proper education. I have always known that your path is one of the mind. It was folly for your father to have pushed you along a more material course. Does this please you?”

  Babette struggled to speak. Suddenly her tongue was limp in her mouth, making her choke on her own words. School? A university? She had never before dared to dream of such a thing! As Father was fond of saying, it simply wasn’t done. Was it even possible? Legal?

  “Well good heavens, child,” Grandfather said, “say something.”

  Korbinian rose and walked to her. He knelt behind her and whispered in her ear:

  “You must say something, liebchen, lest he think that he has offended you.”

  “Yes!” Babette finally exclaimed, her hands clutched tightly together in excitement. “My God, Grandfather, yes! I should like nothing better! But is it legal?”

  Grandfather laughed loudly at this.

  “It is certainly not illegal,” he said. “No, it is merely a matter of finding a university that will accept women, and while that number is quite small, I have taken the liberty of conducting a search. I believe Zurich would be an ideal choice.”

  “Zurich?” Babette asked.

  “You could go to Fuchsburg,” Korbinian said. “We’ve had women there for centuries.”

  “What about Fuchsburg?” Babette asked. “I have always wanted to go.”

  “Yes, well.…” Grandfather cleared his throat loudly. “I feel that Zurich is the better choice. Fuchsburg would no doubt bring about all manner of painful memories. Zurich is also much further from Normandy. I doubt you want dear Alfonse showing up to court you in the midst of a lecture.”

  Babette opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it. For whatever reason, Grandfather’s mind was clearly made up. The offer of attending university was too incredible to jeopardize over a triviality.

  “You are right,” she said. “Zurich sounds wonderful. And they will admit me?”

  “They have been allowing women to attend lectures for more than ten years now. I have no concerns.” Grandfather’s eye twinkled mischievously. “Besides which, I am acquainted with one or two members of the faculty. It will be quite simple to arrange, I assure you.”

  “I suppose I shall be expected to return home between terms,” Babette said, already disappointed at the prospect.

  “No, no,” Grandfather said, dismissing the notion like a silly dream. “I don’t think that would do at all. You must be attentive to your studies, Babette. No, you will remain in Zurich, or perhaps you can visit the Pavones in Venice. But I will not allow you to wile away your time on the trivialities of the country life. If you are to be educated, then it must be the entirety of your attention.”

  Babette smiled to herself but quickly thought better of it and looked at Grandfather with a serious expression.

  “Surely you and Father will want me to visit,” she said.

  “No,” Grandfather said abruptly. “Your father and I shall visit you. The brisk mountain air will do wonders for our health.”

  “Brisk mountain air?” Korbinian asked.

  “Grandfather,” Babette said, “Zurich is below the Alps.”

  Grandfather did not hesitate with his reply:

  “Better still. I find that mountain air is a trifle too thin for my comfort.”

  “You are serious, Grandfather?” Babette asked.

  It was all too impossible to believe.

  “Oh yes,” Grandfather said, looking very grave. “And it’s dreadfully cold up in the mountains as well. Horrible for one’s health.”

  “No, I mean about school,” Babette said. “You truly mean to let me go.”

  “I do,” Grandfather said with a broad smile. “I have known for quite some time that your lot is not that of a Society woman. You would not be satisfied with a man of great standing and little intellect. Perhaps if you are among men of learning, you will find someone you are willing to marry. At least, that is what I will tell your father. For myself, I only want you to be happy.”

  Babette rose from her chair and threw her arms around Grandfather’s neck.

  “Thank you, Grandfather!” she cried. “Thank you! Thank you!”

  * * * *

  Zurich, Switzerland

  Babette found much to please her in Zurich: the beautiful old city, the fresh air, and the majesty of the Alps rising over the lake. And above all, she delighted in the peace and quiet. Removed from the madness of Society, from Father’s endless fussing and interference, life became remarkable pleasant. In the days before her time at the university began, Babette spent hours strolling along the lakeside with Korbinian. They spoke endlessly, suddenly free of the constraints of the household. Grandfather had, of course, furnished servants for her—a local husband and wife to look after the house and a pleasant Venetian girl provided by the Pavones to serve as her maid—but they all had the good sense to leave her in peace.

  Surprisingly, school was just as she had
expected. Education was nothing new to her, but the structure was quite changed from the governesses and tutors who had instructed her in her youth. She found many of her lectures informative but tedious, and except for the rare ray of light, her fellow students were nothing but a pack of self-important fools. Korbinian often reminded her that her view may have been skewed by the tendency of the young men to dismiss her as something less than a proper scholar. Babette disagreed.

  At first her studies were in philosophy, like the few other women allowed to sit lectures with the men. This occupied her for a time, but soon she found her interests tending toward more practical topics. Four months into her studies, she began insinuating herself into the faculty of medicine. It was difficult at first, but with a combination of charm, intellect, and relentlessness, she finally managed to crack their resistance.

  When Grandfather visited her the following summer, she was able to report to him the good news as he joined her for tea in her house’s small sitting room.

  “Grandfather,” she said, as she added the cream to her tea, “I have decided to become a doctor.”

  Grandfather paused in the midst of drinking. He slowly lowered his cup and looked at her, blinking a few times.

  “A doctor?” he asked.

  “Yes, Grandfather.”

  Grandfather shrugged and asked, “Do they allow women to study medicine here?”

  “Doctor Höffner has already agreed to let me attend his lectures this year,” Babette replied, “provided that I agree to spend time as a nurse in the hospital in the meanwhile. And what is more, provided I make a good show of it, he has agreed to speak to the rest of the faculty on my behalf.”

  “That is wonderful news, Babette,” Grandfather said. “I am most pleased.”

  “You approve?” Babette asked, very much surprised. She had not expected such a response.

  Grandfather thought about the question for a short while.

  “Well,” he finally said, “it is unorthodox, certainly, but I have never been overly enamored by orthodoxy. Doing what has always been done is no way to run a business. Why should it be the standard for our lives?”