Such Wicked Intent aovf-2

by Kenneth Oppel

  I saw Henry suppress a shudder as he remembered the weird moan lifting to us from the depths. But I also remembered how Analiese had said she’d never seen anything-which meant that, whatever it was down there, it hadn’t stirred for a long, long time. I didn’t see why it necessarily had to be evil. A greater part of me wanted to know more about it. But if Henry and Elizabeth feared it and thought it would harm Konrad, all to the good. It would keep them focused on the urgency of our endeavor.

  “Yes,” I said. “I don’t think we should waste any time.”

  “That liquid,” she said, “or whatever substance it was. We need to know how to get it.”

  “Why didn’t the hieroglyphs tell you?” Henry asked.

  “There may be other writings in the cave,” I suggested. “Or elsewhere. We’ll need to go back.”

  She nodded reluctantly. “Though, I don’t like the place.”

  “Henry does, I think,” I said.

  He leaned back with the look of someone remembering a fleeting and guilty pleasure. “I can’t deny it,” he said. “There was something… Can ‘liberating’ be the right word?”

  “You’re the expert with words,” I said, and grinned.

  “I’m different when I’m there,” said Elizabeth. “I don’t like myself.”

  I laughed. “You are more yourself. That’s the wonder of it. We all are.”

  She blushed and set her gaze on the shoreline. “Well, if that’s true, I’d be very worried if I were you. You’re even more reckless and arrogant inside.”

  I was indignant. “How so?”

  Henry snorted. “With those butterflies on you, you carry on like you’re a demigod. And what you did with the spirit clock-”

  “Didn’t we all return safely?”

  “Well, yes,” he said.

  “And how long were our bodies without us?”

  “A minute and two seconds.”

  “An extra second only!”

  “There are limits to what the human body can endure!” Henry exclaimed.

  “I think you’d be amazed, my friend.” They clearly had no idea of the kind of power and vitality I felt in the spirit world, how my senses and experiences there seemed even more real than the sunlight and wind and water that surrounded me now. I realized that, more than anything, I wanted to return.

  “Victor.”

  I was expecting Henry to chastise me further, but I saw him staring fixedly at the tiller. He pointed.

  “There’s something on your right hand.”

  I glanced down quickly and in amusement said, “That, Henry, is called a shadow.” I was remarkably glad to see that familiar look of worry etched upon his pale brow. He was not yet so transformed by the spirit world.

  “No,” he said, moving closer. “Where your fingers used to be.”

  I looked and gave a rueful grunt, for, by some trick of the light, it did indeed look as if I had a fourth and fifth finger, gripping the tiller.

  “It’s just shadow, Henry. Look.” And I moved my hand along the tiller. The two phantom fingers elongated and then seeped back beneath my hand with a fluid speed that was not at all shadowlike.

  I jerked my hand off the tiller.

  “It’s still there!” Elizabeth cried, pointing.

  I turned my hand over and saw something dark and slick against my flesh.

  “What is it?” gasped Henry.

  “Some kind of beetle!” Elizabeth said.

  I gave my hand a violent shake, but it clung. I swiped it off with my left hand. “Where’d it go?” I said, looking about the cockpit floor.

  “It’s on your other hand now!” shouted Henry.

  I saw it slyly squeezed into the fold between my thumb and palm. In growing alarm I stood, striking at it.

  “I can’t get it off!” I cried. “I can’t even feel it!”

  Unmanned, the boat strayed into the wind, and as the sail luffed, direct sunlight washed over my hand, and instantly the shadowy insect seeped up my shirt sleeve.

  Horrified, I tore off my jacket, threw it to the deck, and desperately began ripping open my shirt, popping buttons.

  The boat swayed, and the swinging boom nearly brained me.

  “There it is!” cried Elizabeth, and I caught just a glimpse of something scuttling into my armpit.

  “Gah!” I lifted my arm high, staggering off balance, and turned to the sun so I could see better. The thing oozed from the tangle of my underarm hair around to my back so that I lost sight of it.

  “Where’s it gone?” I demanded, lurching about so Henry and Elizabeth might spot it.

  “It doesn’t like the light!” Henry said. “It rushes to hide.”

  “Just get it off me!” I cried.

  “It’s too quick!” Henry protested, hands slapping at my skin. “It flows like mercury!”

  I was in a near frenzy to rid myself of this pest, and whirled about, looking back over my shoulder.

  “Victor,” Elizabeth said with frightening solemnity, “it has gone into your pants.”

  I tore my waistband loose even as I kicked off my shoes. I yanked one leg free and saw the shadow crawler dart down my second pant leg. When I finally rid myself of the pants, the diabolical little creature stretched toward my underpants and disappeared.

  I hesitated only half a second before dragging my underpants off. I was stark naked now and didn’t care one bit, so frenzied was I.

  “Get a jar from the picnic hamper,” I shouted, “and catch it!”

  Elizabeth’s eyes traveled all over me, tracking it. I didn’t care. All I could think was, Would it get inside me somehow? I clenched my buttocks tightly together.

  As the boat swayed and turned, sun and shadow played across my body, and the shadow creature now bolted from my privates to the back of my thigh.

  “On my right leg!” I cried.

  Henry dumped out two jars of water and tossed one to Elizabeth. I turned my front to the sun to keep the thing behind me.

  “Can you see it?” I bellowed.

  “Yes, it’s on your back now. Try to stand still, Victor!” Elizabeth said, drawing closer.

  I felt their jars buffeting me as they tried to catch the thing.

  “I’ve got it!” cried Elizabeth as she drove the jar into the small of my back with such force that I yowled in pain. “It’s caught! Henry, where’s the lid!”

  “Here, here!” he said.

  I watched over my shoulder as Elizabeth very swiftly tipped the jar away from my skin, slipped the lid over the top, and screwed furiously.

  “There!” she cried triumphantly.

  My relief was immense, and yet immediately, bizarrely, I also thought:

  I want it back. Now.

  I felt a stab of pain return to my hand. Forgetting my nakedness, I turned to look at the thing, battering itself against the glass in vain.

  Henry cleared his throat. “Victor, you need clothes.”

  Elizabeth, I noticed, seemed to have no trouble with my nakedness and merely smiled, her gaze level with mine, holding out my underpants.

  After I’d hurriedly dressed, I grabbed the jar and held it to the sunlight to better get a look at the little fiend. With no shadow to offer it refuge, the thing hurled itself hysterically about the jar, and I feared the glass would shatter.

  “This is no normal animal,” I said. “Where is its head, its limbs? It changes shape every second!”

  As if exhausted, it retreated into a corner and made itself as small as possible, a dense black ink splotch.

  “It’s getting fainter!” said Elizabeth.

  “I think you’re right,” Henry agreed.

  The thing was fraying at the edges, unraveling into smoky tendrils.

  “The sunlight harms it,” I murmured.

  “Let it die!” Henry said.

  As it continued to diffuse, it became butterfly-shaped, and I caught, just for a moment, a glimpse of miraculous colors on its wings.

  “Wait!” Immediately I sheltered the gl
ass jar with my body, and then wrapped a napkin around it.

  “What’re you doing?” said Henry.

  “It’s one of the butterflies! From the spirit world!”

  “But how?” Elizabeth demanded.

  “The one that was helping me in the caves. It must’ve come out with me. It came out with me!”

  Very slowly Henry said, “How could something from the world of the dead come into ours?”

  I looked into the jar. Protected from the sun, the creature had composed itself and regained some of its intense blackness. It poured itself around the inside of the glass. I inhaled sharply. It was unmistakable.

  “Do you know what this is?” I said, grinning up at the other two. “This is the last ingredient we need to grow Konrad.”

  CHAPTER 8

  MUD

  I touched the handle of Konrad’s bedchamber, leaned my forehead against the wood. A deep breath, and then I entered and shut the door soundlessly behind me. It was almost completely dark, for the curtains were drawn tight, with only a faint penumbra of light around them.

  For a moment I imagined the other world beyond this one, the one in which Konrad resided. Briefly the room seemed to shimmer, about to reveal itself to me in all its guises through history, but then it solidified into the undeniable truth of here and now.

  We hadn’t changed anything in his bedchamber. No one could face it, not yet, that final resignation. And if this endeavor of mine was successful, there’d be no need of it.

  I needed some part of Konrad. Neither Elizabeth, nor Henry, nor I had been able to contemplate venturing to his crypt and desecrating his body. But then I’d realized we wouldn’t have to. The cave writings had told me that all that was required was some part of him that had once been living. Surely it wouldn’t matter how large or small.

  On his chest of drawers I found his brush, and from the bristles I began to pull as many of his hairs as I could.

  I heard the bedchamber door slowly opening, and I whirled, the brush still clutched guiltily in my hands.

  On the threshold stood my mother, a hand lifted to stifle a scream.

  “Konrad?” she gasped.

  “Mother, it’s me, Victor. I’m so sorry to startle you.”

  I rushed over to her, pocketing the brush, and helped her to the nearest chair. She was still in her night robe, even though it was near noon.

  “I mistook you…” It took her a moment to regain her breath.

  I didn’t like to look upon her, for my beautiful mother’s cheeks were hollowed, and her normally lively eyes dulled.

  “Let me help you back to your bedchamber,” I said.

  “Your father thinks it only makes me worse to come here, but I need to. I still need to. And you do too, clearly.”

  She took my maimed hand and placed it between hers. Her skin had a papery feel to it, her bones and tendons more prominent than I recalled. I was terribly worried about her but dared not say anything. Voicing my fears aloud would, somehow, make them far too real and frightening.

  “Does it still pain you, your hand?” she asked.

  “Not very much at all,” I lied.

  She looked about the darkened room. “Almost every night I dream of him. And sometimes we talk. What I would give for just one more real conversation.”

  Before I could stop myself, I said, “If I could bring him back for you, I would.”

  “I know, Victor. You try so hard.”

  “Father thinks-”

  “Your father thinks you’re rash and headstrong, but he told me he’d never known anyone show such love and devotion to a sibling.”

  “He said that to you?”

  She nodded. “Every day I’m thankful for you, and Elizabeth, and William and Ernest, and one day I won’t wear this grief so heavily, but that day… seems a very long way away.”

  I kissed her on both cheeks and hugged her. “You should rest,” I said.

  “All I do is rest,” she replied wearily, and then formed her face into a brave smile. “Are you taking Konrad’s hairbrush as a keepsake?”

  I swallowed uneasily. “Yes. I want it for my own.”

  And I need it, to bring him back, for all of us.

  The work cottage stood on the farthest reach of our property, at the edge of an unused pasture that bordered forest. Beyond the crude door was a dirt floor, plank walls, no windows-a place to give laborers shelter in bad weather, a place for unused stone and fence posts, shovels and rusting saws.

  On the crude wooden table we placed the lanterns we’d lit, and closed the door. Carefully I set down the jar containing the butterfly spirit. It had spent a day and night in my room, carefully hidden, like some strange insect a guilty boy keeps from his mother. It swam along the inside of the glass, then grew legs and scuttled about, then sprouted black wings and fluttered, batting itself against the lid, its entire being bent on escape. Soon enough, I thought. Soon enough you can come out and start your work.

  From my breast pocket I took the vial of Konrad’s hair and set it on the table.

  I looked at Henry and Elizabeth. “We will do this,” I said.

  Henry nodded. “Yes.”

  I saw Elizabeth take a deep breath, but her gaze was steady as she nodded. In the church that day, before the painting of Jesus and Lazarus, she’d made her decision, and she’d never been one to back down. “What do we do first?”

  “Well, it’s… fairly straightforward,” I said. “First the hole.”

  I passed Henry a shovel, and plunged mine into the dirt floor behind the table. Working together it was a quick enough job. The hole was shallow, no more than a foot deep, and six in length. A crib, I thought.

  But it looked more like a grave.

  At its bottom the earth was moist and claylike. Elizabeth pushed back her sleeves and knelt. She took several handfuls of thick mud and started working away, fashioning a torso, pinching off a head, then arms, then shaping the lower half into two legs. She used the tip of her little finger to make indentations for the eyes and then traced a mouth. Watching, I had a sudden memory of her as a little girl, sitting in the courtyard garden, making shapes in the soil with a stick, her brow furrowed with concentration.

  I couldn’t help laughing. “I can’t see you taking such care over me,” I said. “Two splats of mud, and away we go.”

  When she looked up at me, her eyes were wet.

  “You’ve done a fine job,” I told her, my voice softening. I knelt down beside her. “Here.” I helped her smooth the outlines of the little mud creature, as though this would give it a greater chance of becoming perfect, of becoming Konrad. Our fingers touched and, for just a split second, lingered, as though remembering something. Then she pulled back her hand to continue her work alone. I stood and watched.

  “How long will it take, before it grows to its proper size?” Henry asked.

  I conjured up the stone book’s searing chain of images-the sun chasing the darkness across the twitching body of the mud man. “I’m not sure. It was a good number of days. Six, perhaps?”

  “And then?”

  “We’ll give the body a drop of the elixir and enter the spirit world.”

  “But wouldn’t the body appear in the spirit world too?” asked Henry. “And then we’d have two Konrads?”

  From the floor Elizabeth shook her head, frowning. “The body won’t enter. It has no spirit, and it’s our spirits that inhabit the land of the dead.”

  “Precisely,” I said, though it had taken me some time to puzzle this out myself. “The body will wait in the real world for Konrad’s spirit to claim it.”

  “But how will Konrad find his body without a talisman?” Henry asked.

  This I’d already considered. “Before we enter, we’ll put some talisman in the creature’s fist, and when we enter the spirit world, the body won’t be there but the talisman will be. I’ll need your help now, Henry.”

  We returned to the table.

  “We need our butterfly spirit to bind wit
h Konrad’s hair,” I said.

  Henry took up the jar with the spirit and peered inside. “The moment we unscrew this lid…”

  I nodded. “It’ll try to escape onto one of us, me most likely. It seems to prefer me.”

  “Your irresistible charm,” said Henry.

  I chuckled nervously. Everything suddenly seemed unreal. Were we really doing this?

  “Is our mud creation complete?” I asked Elizabeth.

  She nodded and came to the table.

  I handed Henry the vial of Konrad’s hair and took hold of the jar with the butterfly spirit. “I’ll slide open the lid just a touch, and you jam the end of your vial inside and shake out the hair-quickly, mind.”

  “I’m ready,” he said, removing the small cork from the vial.

  The moment I put my hand atop the lid, the spirit became still at the bottom of the jar, attentive, coiled. I unscrewed the lid and held it firmly in place for a moment, while Henry positioned the vial. He nodded, and I slid the lid an inch to the side.

  Henry darted the vial into the gap but didn’t even have time to shake out the hair. In the blink of an eye the spirit sprang into the vial, where it stretched itself long and spiraled in a frenzy round and round the strands of Konrad’s hair.

  “What do I do?” whispered Henry.

  “Stay still, stay still,” I hissed. “Elizabeth, the cork!”

  She snatched it up from the table. I pulled back the jar’s lid so she could reach inside with her slim hands and jam the cork hard into the inverted top of the vial.

  “Thank goodness,” I breathed. Trapped inside, the spirit hungrily twined with Konrad’s hair until it was difficult to tell them apart. Henry’s hands were shaking slightly.

  “What’s the best way to put this inside the mud creature?” he asked.

  “Let’s do it now while it’s occupied,” I said. The spirit was still ecstatically entangled with Konrad’s hair.

  Swiftly we moved to the hole, where Elizabeth knelt and pressed her thumb deep into the center of the little mud creature’s torso.