This Dark endeavor taovf-1

by Kenneth Oppel

  Again and again I carefully turned pages.

  Until I found it.

  “Is that it?” I asked excitedly. At the very bottom of the page was one of the strange characters we’d seen in Agrippa’s Occulta Philosophia.

  “Yes,” said Elizabeth, nodding back at me. “It’s very distinctive.”

  “We will have our translation, then!” I said. “Surely if Dr. Paracelsus invented this language, he must lay out its translation in the common alphabet.”

  But when I tried to turn the page, I could not. It had been completely fused by fire into a thick papery clump.

  “Stop, stop!” said Elizabeth. “You’ll tear it!”

  It was all I could do to keep myself from hurling the book across the chamber. As if sensing my rage, Elizabeth took hold of my hand and pointed at the open book.

  “Look there,” she said.

  Above the strange character was written something in Greek. I squinted but could not make sense of it.”

  “The Alphabet of the Magi,” Elizabeth translated.

  “But its key is lost to us,” I moaned. “The book is unreadable!”

  “We know the alphabet’s name at least,” Elizabeth said.

  I nodded and took a breath. “And now we must find someone who can translate it for us. We must find ourselves an alchemist.”

  I slept but a few hours and, after breakfast, went downstairs to the servants’ quarters. I waited in the hallway outside the kitchen until Maria turned the corner and saw me. Her face lit up.

  “Konrad?” she said, with such joy that I felt guilty to disappoint her-and then disgruntled, too, for Konrad had always been her favorite when we were little.

  “It is Victor, Maria,” I said, coming more into the light.

  “Victor, forgive me. You gave me a start. For a moment I thought it was your brother, up and about-” She stopped herself. “Is everything all right upstairs? Does your mother need me?”

  “No, no, all is well,” I said. “I am sorry to bother you, Maria, but there is something I wanted to ask you.” I waited as Sasha, one of the kitchen staff, passed by in the hall, giving us a curious look. In a lowered voice I said, “Of a rather confidential nature.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said. “Come into my office.”

  As housekeeper she had a comfortable suite of rooms, some of which looked out toward the lake. She led me into her small office, where all the business accounts of the household were carefully maintained. She was a meticulous woman, and I’d often heard my mother say that we would all be utterly helpless without her.

  “What is it you wanted to speak to me about, Victor?” she asked, closing the door. She should have called me young master, but she had raised me from a yowling whelp, and it would have felt odd to be called master by her.

  “I am very worried about Konrad,” I began cautiously.

  She nodded, and I was not surprised to see her eyes moisten.

  “I worry that the doctors do not know how to cure him,” I said, watching her, “and I wonder if perhaps there are healers with different skills who might be more successful.”

  She said nothing, but her eyes would not meet mine.

  “Do you know of any such people, Maria?”

  She took a breath. “I do not.”

  I sat back, discouraged, tried to think of another subtle line of questioning, and couldn’t.

  “But I heard you talking to Mother,” I blurted out, “about some fellow you know of, an alchemist.”

  “You little villain! Eavesdropping!” she said, and I suddenly felt five years old again, and caught out at some mischief.

  “Who was it you were talking about?” I persisted.

  “I promised your mother I would not speak of it.”

  “To Father,” I said. “She asked you not to speak of it to Father. But you can tell me, Maria.”

  She glared at me, then looked away. “You must promise me you will not speak of this to your parents,” she said. “And I do this only because I am so worried about your brother.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “I put little faith in these doctors. Some cannot even cut hair straight, much less deliver a baby without killing the mother.” She sighed. “There was an incident a good many years ago; you and Konrad were just newborns. One of the city’s generals had a daughter, no more than six, who sickened suddenly. The general spared no expense. He summoned the finest physicians of Europe. All of them said the girl was beyond hope and would die before the winter was through. But the girl’s mother could not bear the thought, and sought out an apothecary right here in Geneva. Some said he was a gifted healer. Some said he was an alchemist. Some said he trafficked with the devil. But the mother did not care about any of that. She went to him and he prepared a medicine, and he saved that little girl.”

  Maria’s voice trembled. I took my handkerchief and passed it to her, and counted five seconds while she dabbed her eyes, but I was too impatient to wait any longer.

  “His name,” I said urgently. “What was the fellow’s name?”

  “Julius Polidori.”

  I had never heard of him, which was odd. Geneva, though an important city, was no vast metropolis like Paris or London, and my father’s position made him aware of anyone of prominence.

  “And is he still in the city?” I asked Maria.

  “I don’t know, Victor. But I think maybe you should find out.”

  I smiled at her. “I will. I most surely will.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE ALCHEMIST

  The next morning, as Konrad slumbered, Henry, Elizabeth, and I traveled to Geneva with Father in the carriage. Father had business to attend to at the Palais de Justice, and the three of us had convinced him that we should spend the day studying the history of our great republic by exploring its oldest buildings and monuments: Saint Peter’s, the Magdalen Church, the town hall. It was to be part of our schooling. Father, of course, was delighted at our keenness, and happy, too, to see us temporarily removed from the chateau and all its gloom.

  As we approached Geneva along the south lake road, I admired the high ramparts that surrounded the city in the shape of a protective star. There were only five gated entrances, locked every night at ten o’clock, and the portcullises were not raised until five in the morning. The guards were under the strictest instructions never to deviate from this schedule, even if ordered by the magistrates themselves. Our city had seen many wars and sieges, and these current times, my father often said, were uncertain ones.

  We stabled the horses and carriage at our city house, for we kept a small staff there even in the summer when we were mostly at the chateau. Father bade us farewell, and we agreed to meet at two in the afternoon for the drive home.

  “To the town hall, then,” I said after Father had disappeared from view. We had discussed our strategy the night before, and we agreed that the town hall seemed the most sensible place to begin our search. The land registry office would have records of all the city’s property owners.

  But when we asked the fussy town hall clerk to check, he found no entry for a Polidori.

  “All this tells us is that he doesn’t own property,” I said outside in the square.

  “He may well take rented rooms,” said Elizabeth.

  “As a great many do,” added Henry.

  Our next step was to ask at the various apothecary shops. If this fellow was as famous as Maria had said, others would have heard of him. But several young apprentices just shook their heads and claimed no knowledge of him.

  An older fellow looked at us gravely over the top of his spectacles and said, “I have not heard that foul name mentioned in many years. I know nothing of his whereabouts, nor care to know.”

  Our search had started near the center of the city, but slowly we were moving away from the elegant flowered fountains and airy public squares. The cobbled streets narrowed. There were fewer gentlemen about, and more sailors and laborers and women dressed in coarser fashion
. I didn’t like the looks a couple of wharf hands gave us as we passed in the lanes.

  I was beginning to despair, for we had asked now at some half dozen establishments, and no one had been able to tell us anything helpful about Julius Polidori.

  “We are idiots,” said Henry suddenly.

  I turned to see him looking into a greasy window where a row of typesetters sat hunched over tables, their blackened fingers plucking individual letters from trays.

  “The Geneva Gazette,” said Henry. “This story of Maria’s-surely it would have been written up.”

  “It must have been,” said Elizabeth eagerly. “The child of a general! Of course it would have been the talk of the town. Victor, did Maria give you an exact date?”

  “She said it was the year of my birth, that it was winter.”

  “Now we must hope that the newspaper keeps a proper archive,” said Henry.

  I was not hopeful when we entered the offices, for the place was in a chaos of activity and noise and ink. At first it seemed no one would have a second to spare for us, but Elizabeth picked out the kindliest-looking young gentleman she could find. She walked to him and very prettily told him we had been set a historical assignment by our tutor, and would it be possible to look at some past issues of the newspaper.

  It was quite remarkable, how helpful the fellow was. He gave us all candles and escorted us down to a cellar, and then my heart truly sank, for I saw tower after tower of newspaper, stacked to the very ceiling.

  “It is like a city of paper,” I murmured to Elizabeth.

  “Will it be difficult to find the period we seek?” she asked the young fellow.

  “Not at all, miss, not at all.” He promptly led us to a particular tower, thrust his hand into it, and, like a magician, pulled out a wad of old newspapers.

  “I believe these will suit you,” he said, beaming at Elizabeth. Elizabeth beamed back.

  “Thank you so much, sir. You’ve been so kind.”

  “If you need any further assistance, I shall be upstairs,” he said. He gave his name, bowed, and disappeared.

  “He could not have been more helpful had he been on puppet strings,” Henry said in amazement.

  Elizabeth blushed modestly. We each took several papers and in the light of our candles searched through them.

  It seemed hardly any time at all before Elizabeth exclaimed, “I have it here! Here is the story…” She read aloud hurriedly, and then jumped ahead until she came to what we sought. “Julius Polidori, of Wollstonekraft Alley…”

  “It is not five minutes’ walk from here,” I said with a grin.

  The alley stank of urine-and worse. The few shops had a defeated look about them, tattered awnings and grimy windows with dusty displays that probably hadn’t been changed for years.

  “This must be the place, here,” said Henry. The windows were shuttered, but over the door hung a wooden sign. Flaking paint showed an apothecary’s mortar and pestle.

  “It does not look promising,” said Elizabeth drily.

  In the door was a small, dirty window, but it was too dark inside to make out much more than the shadows of shelves. The place looked all but abandoned, but when I turned the knob, the door swung open and a small bell clanged.

  I entered with Henry and Elizabeth. “Good morning!” I called out.

  Mingled with the fragrance of a hundred different herbs was dust and a powerful smell of cat. At one time the shop must have been more prosperous, for the shelves were of rich dark wood. On our left was an entire wall of drawers, each fancily labeled.

  “Hello?” I called out again.

  Henry drew open one drawer, and then another. “Empty,” he said. He looked all about him, wide eyed, perhaps recording every detail for some horrifying poem or play he would later concoct.

  Directly before us was a long counter, behind which were shelves filled with elaborate mixing vessels. It did not look like anything had been mixed there in quite some time. In the middle of the shelves was a glass-paned door. I saw a flicker of light, and then a shadow growing larger.

  Quite suddenly the door swung open and a man in a wheel-chair propelled himself into the shop. His legs were wizened, the fabric of his breeches loose and flapping. He seemed no more than fifty, and though his upper body was powerfully built, the man’s face had a gaunt and defeated look to it. His wig rested crookedly, and was many years out of fashion. But it was his eyes that most gave him the look of defeat. They contained not a spark of light or hope.

  “How may I help you?” He seemed surprised when he saw us. No doubt he didn’t get many customers as well dressed as us in his shop-if he got any customers at all.

  “You are Mr. Julius Polidori?” Elizabeth asked politely.

  “I am, miss.”

  The three of us glanced quickly at one another, for this fellow seemed so far from the picture conjured by Maria’s story.

  A healer. A man of power who cured a little girl when all the wise men of Europe could not.

  This man before us positively reeked of failure.

  I felt an instinctive disdain rising in me. What kind of healer could this be? This broken person in a chair, with a crooked wig? His shop was a ruin. No doubt his clothing had not been laundered recently. He was laughable. I was tempted to turn and leave that very moment.

  “Might there be some medicine you’re needing?” he asked.

  “I think perhaps-,” I began with a sniff, but Elizabeth cut me off.

  “Indeed there is,” she said, and gave me a warning look, for she knew how quickly my temper could flare. In that way, we were not so different. To Polidori she said, “But it is of an… unusual nature.”

  He looked at us steadily, saying nothing.

  I was still far from convinced that any good could come of this, but we were here now. I drew closer to the counter. “You are the same apothecary who cured the general’s girl, some years ago?”

  He drew in a breath and released it with a rueful nod. “I am.”

  “We have heard that you are a man of wide-ranging knowledge,” Elizabeth said. “A healer with remarkable powers.”

  He actually laughed then, bitterly. “Is this some joke? Have you nothing better to do with your days?”

  “No, sir,” said Henry. “I mean, no, this is not a joke and we are here with the greatest urgency.”

  “We’re searching for the Elixir of Life,” Elizabeth said quietly.

  Polidori stared at us with his dull eyes. “Good day to you, young sirs, and young lady,” he said curtly, and with a deft movement he swiveled his chair back toward the doorway.

  “Please, sir, wait,” I said, striding forward, taking from my satchel a volume from the Dark Library and putting it on the counter. “I have here a work by Cornelius Agrippa.”

  Polidori paused. He chuckled sadly and then turned around, barely glancing at the book.

  “ Occulta Philosophia. Am I correct?”

  I nodded, startled.

  “Young sir, put it back into your satchel. Add two large stones, say good-bye, and throw it into the deepest part of the harbor.”

  Henry looked over at me, confused. “Is that a spell of some sort?”

  “That is advice, and the best I have to give,” said Polidori. “That book will only bring you grief.”

  “Sir,” I said. “The physician Agrippa-”

  “ Ma gician!” Polidori scoffed.

  I persisted. “He writes of something called the Elixir-”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” he said impatiently. “The Elixir of Life. He was hardly the first to dream up such a thing. There are many, many recipes for fantastical potions meant to cure all ills, perhaps even guarantee immortality. Such things are delusions, sir. They do not exist.”

  “I am confused,” said Elizabeth. “I thought you yourself-”

  “Yes,” he said. “There was a time when I too was seduced by such fancies and sought after them with great passion. I even created an elixir of my very own.”

>   “And you succeeded with that little girl,” I said.

  Again he laughed. “She was cured,” he said. “But not by me. It was chance, or God’s divine power, a miracle! But it was not me.”

  “Why do you say that, sir?” Henry asked.

  Polidori frowned. “You know my name, yet you don’t know my full story? You have not come merely to torment me?”

  I shook my head, wondering why Maria had withheld something. The honesty in all our surprised faces must have convinced Polidori, and the suspicion faded from his eyes. He sighed.

  “After that girl recovered, my business flourished. People beat my door off its hinges, wanting the same medicine.” He waved a hand around his shop. “For a short while I was a wealthy man, welcomed into the finest homes in the city. But that elixir I gave the girl, the very same thing, was not reliable. Sometimes it made a patient well. Sometimes it had no effect at all. Sometimes it seemed to make a patient worse. Still, people craved it, even though I grew more and more reluctant to prepare it. Some months later there was a ship owner, Hans Marek, a man of some wealth and power in the city, whose wife was very ill. He came to me and demanded the elixir. I told him I was no longer making it. He offered me a great sum in gold, and foolishly I accepted. Marek took my elixir home, and his wife died shortly after taking it. He was so enraged that he wanted me hanged for witchcraft.” Polidori chuckled. “You see, when a medicine works, it is blessed science, and when it fails, it is witchcraft. I was brought before a magistrate, a fine and enlightened gentleman who dismissed the charges as barbaric and primitive. But he forbade me from making the elixir ever again, or practicing alchemy.”

  “This magistrate,” Henry asked. “What was his name?”

  The same question had been on my lips as well, and I waited anxiously for the answer.

  “His name was Alphonse Frankenstein,” said the apothecary.

  I felt a great pride in my father’s fairness, but when I saw that Elizabeth was about to reveal our connection, I quickly touched her hand. I did not think it wise for Polidori to know our identities, not yet anyway.

  “I owe Frankenstein my life,” Polidori was saying, “what is left of it. But his ruling offered no satisfaction to Hans Marek. Several nights later I was dragged from my bed by a drunken mob, taken up to the city ramparts, and pushed.”