I knew the answer to that, too, for I had the faint iron tang of blood in my mouth. And as wicked as it was, I rejoiced at its delicious taste. I had her blood inside me. The blood of my beloved.
“Here, take my handkerchief,” I said hoarsely.
Her fingers touched my face, questioningly, and I took a step back.
“Konrad?” she said, as though she wasn’t altogether sure.
“Who else would it be?” I said, trying to sound a little annoyed. “But we should part. I still feel depleted.”
“Yes, of course, take your rest. I’ll wait here a little longer, in case one of the servants might see us together.”
I gave her hand one last squeeze and swiftly left the library, hurrying down the dimly lit passage to my bedchamber.
At breakfast the next morning I sat down opposite Konrad, and had just started my meal when Elizabeth swept into the room.
“You must have dropped this, Victor,” she said casually. As she passed my chair, she tossed a handkerchief into my lap. On it was a blot of her blood.
And beside it, my monogram.
VF.
What a fool I’d been.
She knew.
She did not meet my gaze throughout the entire meal.
But I did not regret for one second stealing that kiss.
CHAPTER NINE
THEFT
AFTER LUNCH HENRY AND I SET OUT ON HORSEBACK FOR Cologny, the small village outside of Geneva where the mapmaker’s widow lived.
I was most relieved to be away from the château—and from Konrad and Elizabeth. I didn’t think she had told Konrad about my midnight trickery. Certainly he’d seemed completely natural with me all morning—unless he was a better actor than I thought. Had he done the same thing to me, I would have been volcanic with fury.
The day was sunny but cool, and it was very pleasant to be astride my horse, trotting along the roadway, side by side with Henry. To our right sparkled the lake, alive with sailing vessels bringing freight and passengers to and from Geneva.
“How does it come to you, your poetry?” I asked Henry.
He looked across at me. “You’ve never shown any interest in my scribbling before.”
“I’m curious. Where does it come from?”
He looked off into the distance, frowning. “Small things, often. A vista. A feeling. A longing. It struggles to be described, to be captured.”
I had no shortage of feelings, and usually no problem expressing them—not to those closest to me. So how could my true feelings for Elizabeth have lain dormant for so long? Was it that she’d been raised as my sister, and so I had suffocated any romantic thoughts I’d had for her? But she was not my sister. She was not even a first cousin, but some distant relation. So why had I not allowed my feelings for her to blossom? Konrad had had no such trouble.
I turned back to Henry. “And you can write about anything?”
“Anything I care about.”
“Love?”
He laughed. “Love!”
I shrugged. “Just by way of example. Yes, words and phrases that would describe love. That would, um, impress a young lady.”
Henry sighed. “Good Lord. You are not in love with her as well, are you?”
“I’m sure I don’t know who you mean!”
“You are a terrible liar, Victor. Miss Elizabeth Lavenza, perhaps?”
“Her? Good heavens, no. A fine girl, of course, but—” I blew air through my cheeks. “The tongue on her. She would wear any man out within ten minutes. I’d rather hear a dog bark than her voice.”
“Is that so,” said Henry, sounding utterly unconvinced.
“What did you mean when you said, ‘You are not in love with her as well?’”
“She is a wonder,” Henry admitted frankly. “It’s impossible to know her and not love her. I’ve long suspected Konrad does as well.”
I shook my head. All around me, everyone was in love—and me without a clue! What kind of imbecile was I?
“You’ve never spoken to her of your feelings?” I asked, jabbed by jealousy once more. I’d often thought that these two had a great deal in common, with their love of writing. When they’d collaborated on our play, they had spent a great deal of time together, words and laughter ricocheting between them, eager ink staining their fingers and hands.
“No,” said Henry. “And I trust you will keep it secret. She would never have me. I have no delusions. Around her I feel like a pale, feeble moth. It’s all I can do to avoid her flame.”
“You really do have a poet’s tongue, Henry,” I said in admiration. “Would you, you know …”
“What?”
“Scribble a few lines for me?”
He looked at me, askance. “You wish me to scribble you some declarations of love?”
“Just a few little things. You’re a genius, Henry,” I said, warming to my cause, “and no one has your talent with words. Just five of your words could make the sunset itself pause.”
He frowned. “That is not bad, you know,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe something like, ‘Your beauty would make the sunset itself pause.’”
“Ha! You see!” I cried. “You have the gift! I could never have done that myself.”
“You very nearly did,” he said.
“No, ’twas you, my friend! I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me! You genius!”
“You flatter me,” he said. “I don’t dislike it.”
“You put Shakespeare to shame. Just two or three more baubles like that, and I’m forever in your debt. I know how easily these things trip from your tongue. You don’t mind, do you?”
“I will see what I can do,” he said with some reluctance.
“You’re a true friend, Henry. Thank you.”
We were in the village by this time, and I looked about for the widow’s cottage Polidori had described.
“Is it that one there?” Henry asked, pointing.
It was a mean place indeed, surrounded by a dismal yard with chickens, goats, and a pig.
We dismounted and tied up our horses.
“Now, remember our plan,” I said to Henry.
We had dressed smartly, for we had wanted to look as credible as possible.
I knocked on the cottage door. A dog barked from within; a baby squalled. The door opened, and filling nearly the entire frame was a large woman whose face wore an impatient scowl.
“Can I help you?”
“Madame Temerlin, I presume,” I said.
“Not anymore I’m not,” she said, and sniffed. “Madame Trottier it is now.”
Henry consulted the notebook he’d brought as a prop. “Ah, yes, I see that notation here. Forgive me. But you were once the wife of the late Marcel Temerlin, were you not?”
“I was,” she said guardedly.
Henry and I looked at each other and smiled. “Well, that is excellent news,” I said. “We understand that your late husband was a very talented maker of maps.”
“Who sent you?” she demanded.
Henry and I had agreed ahead of time that we would not mention Polidori.
“We’re acting on behalf of the city archives, madam,” I said, playing my part. “The magistrates have ordered a complete geographical survey of the republic, and have sent emissaries like ourselves to collect any materials that might prove of historical or practical use.”
Seeing her hesitate, I took a purse from my pocket and made sure it jingled nicely. “We’re authorized to pay a fair sum for any materials we deem appropriate.”
“They’re in a trunk in the barn,” she said. “I almost burned them when he died, I was so distraught.”
“It must have been a terrible loss,” I said.
“Leaving me with three little ones …”
“The hardship must have been—”
“Would’ve liked to strangle him myself.” She turned and called, “Ilse, watch the baby!”
She led us through the yard to the barn. Judging by the smell, it needed a good
mucking out. Near the back, in a closet below the hayloft, she showed us a small battered trunk. She opened the lid. Inside were a number of mildewed notebooks.
Henry and I made a show of paging through them quickly, muttering vague remarks to each other.
“I think these will all be of great interest to the archives,” I said.
“Indeed,” said Henry.
“He was always running damn fool errands for that witch Dr. Polidori,” said the woman darkly.
“I don’t believe we know him,” said Henry innocently.
“Had him looking for minerals and molds in the caves. Then my husband got it into his head that there was diamonds or gold or both down under the mountains.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not mixed up with this Polidori, are you?”
“Goodness me, no,” said Henry. “Our interest is purely archival.”
For a moment her scowl disappeared, and she looked at Henry and me with a mother’s concern.
“You’ve not got some scheme in mind, have you? To go exploring?”
“We are merely messengers, madam,” I said, and to avoid her eyes I started to count out silver coins from my purse. “We would like to take all these maps, if you’re agreeable.”
“They’re yours to take.”
She watched the coins as I pressed them into her palm. I did not like the look and smell of poverty about her home, and I gave her more than I needed to.
“That’s very decent of you, young sir,” she said, but with some reluctance still. “I just hope you’ve not got some fool notions like my late husband. Those caves kill. That’s all they do.”
“Thank you, madam,” I said. “Thank you very much indeed.”
We loaded the notebooks into our saddlebags, and she watched us from the door of her cottage as we rode off.
We did not speak for several minutes. Henry looked uneasy.
“Do you think it was Polidori who sent him to his death?” he said.
“That is overly dramatic. It sounds as if he rendered some services for Polidori, but then undertook his own adventures.”
“The point is, the caves are dangerous,” Henry said.
“But we will not be exploring. We will only follow his map to the pools. We know exactly what we’re looking for. We will go and return.”
I urged my horse to a canter and headed for home.
“What about this one here?” asked Konrad.
Elizabeth, Henry, and I were in his bedchamber after dinner, and we’d spent the last two hours on the floor, poring over Temerlin’s yellowing notebooks and maps by flickering candlelight. Temerlin had been an energetic man. It seemed there were very few caves, paths, cracks, and crevices he had not explored.
Konrad had unfolded a large map from within one of the notebooks. We came closer with our candles.
It was a wonder, almost frightening, for it looked like the intricate scribbling of a very methodical madman. A single passage quickly became many, and while most of the turnings and intersections were very clear, sometimes the lines of ink trailed into nothingness like the wanderings of an unhealthy mind.
“I suppose those were the tunnels he never explored to the end,” said Henry, touching some of these ghostly fadings-out.
“The opening here,” said Konrad, “is in the foothills, not far to the northeast of us. Isn’t that where Polidori said the entrance would be?”
I nodded, and for a moment we were silent as our eyes traveled these endless underground byways, awed by the vast hidden maze within our mountains.
“The general direction of the tunnels does seem to work northwest, toward the shores of the lake,” said Elizabeth excitedly.
“Look here,” I cried. “A pool!”
The chamber was clearly marked with wavy lines of blue ink. Crudely drawn among them was a fish.
“We have our map!” said Elizabeth.
“Let’s just hope it truly is a map,” said Konrad, “and not some invented doodling.”
I glanced at Elizabeth, hoping she’d see this remark as a show of cowardice.
“Don’t come if you have misgivings,” I said.
I paged through the scribbled notes in the book that contained the map. “It seems he made a most detailed chronicle of this exploration. It shouldn’t be hard to plot our route.”
“And then we will need to draw up a list of gear we’ll need,” Konrad said.
“I have already begun.” I felt very pleased with myself. I would have to be very vigilant if I wanted to keep control of this quest. From my pocket I drew out a small notebook.
Konrad laughed. “How can you know what we’ll need when we’ve only just discovered our route?”
I smiled. “We’re descending deep beneath the earth to catch a fish. Our gear is obvious. We’ll need lanterns, water, and food to keep our strength up. There will doubtless be holes and crevasses. We’ll need good rope. Mountaineering gear.”
“Mountaineering gear!” exclaimed Henry.
“There may be steep drops,” said Konrad wisely.
“Chalk to mark our route so we can return,” I added.
“Very sensible,” said Elizabeth. “Or a ball of string like Theseus in the Minotaur’s maze?”
“String snaps,” I said.
“Chalk can be wiped away,” countered Konrad.
“You’re assuming there is someone down there,” I said, “who wishes us harm.”
“Victor, don’t joke,” said Elizabeth. “You’ve made me shiver.”
“And me,” said Henry.
“I’m not joking,” I said. “We’ll also need our fishing rods and tackle. And weapons.”
“Weapons?” said Konrad. “To catch a fish?”
“Maybe. But a fish may not be the only thing we encounter in the depths. We were surprised in the Sturmwald, and I won’t be surprised again.”
We shortly bade Konrad good night. Henry went one way to his bedchamber, and Elizabeth and I went the other way. Together we walked silently down the corridor. All day she had virtually ignored me, and I could stand it no longer.
“You haven’t told Konrad about our nighttime tryst,” I whispered.
“That was no tryst,” Elizabeth replied tartly. “That was a deception. And you should be grateful I told him nothing of your shameful behavior. You conducted yourself like a scoundrel, but even so, I don’t want to harm the brotherly love you have for each other.”
I felt a moment’s pang of remorse, but at least now her eyes were on me—her beautiful hazel eyes. I did not understand it, but her angry face and words made me all the more attracted to her.
“And I hope that you say nothing of it either,” she added.
“Of course not,” I said. With a thrill of excitement I realized we had a secret. “Perhaps you didn’t tell him because you enjoyed our kiss,” I said daringly.
Her eyes narrowed. “You took what was not yours, Victor.”
She turned away, but I caught her by the hand. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just—I could not help myself.”
She paused, her back still to me.
“I don’t understand myself anymore,” I said haltingly. “This feeling I have for you …”
When she turned around, her face was kind.
“Victor,” she said, “you must not fall in love with me. I love Konrad.”
“For how long?” I demanded.
“I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “Half a year. Maybe longer.”
“Why Konrad and not me?” I blurted, and instantly I felt like a childish fool.
She raised her eyebrows in surprise.
I muttered, “We’re the same, after all.”
She laughed lightly. “You are not the same.”
“Last night you couldn’t tell one from the other!”
“Your appearance maybe, in complete darkness. But your natures are very different.”
“How so?” I asked, anxious to know how she saw me.
She sighed. “You are rash and headstrong, a
nd arrogant.”
“Not always,” I said, more humbly now. “Surely not.”
Her voice softened a little. “No. Not always. But there is a passion in you that scares me.”
“I thought women craved passion,” I said. “I read it in a novel, I think.”
She walked toward me and took both my hands. “Victor, you will always have my fondest love—”
“As a brother. Yes, I know,” I said scathingly. “I’m not interested in that sort of love.”
“Well, I am,” she said. “And you should be too. It is a precious thing.”
I snorted. “Please don’t insult me.”
She shook her head, looking genuinely pained.
I stormed on. “If I can’t have all your love, I want none of it.”
“I cannot control your will, Victor,” she said, and I saw a flare of her own wildcat fury. “Only you can do that. And I wonder sometimes if you have the discipline to do so!”
“Wait, don’t leave,” I said.
But this time she did not stop, and left me alone in the corridor, the portraits of my ancestors looking down on me severely; all but one.
“What are you smiling at, Happy Hans Frankenstein?” I muttered, and slouched toward my bedchamber.
Measuring this much, and no more. Grinding the ingredients to a fine powder. Finding the hottest part of the flame. Watching the powder liquefy and change color. Watching matter transmute.
The noxious odors sharpened my concentration, and minutes and hours dissolved, so intent was I in my work. Never had I achieved this kind of focus with my schoolwork.
It was also a welcome escape. Down here in my dungeon laboratory beneath the boathouse, I could purge Elizabeth from my thoughts. I’d spent a great deal of the previous two days here, following Eisenstein’s instructions to create the flameless fire. With success so close at hand, I felt a thrill of accomplishment.
I did not hear the footsteps until they were almost at my door. In dismay I whirled. There was nothing I could do to conceal my work. Mixing vessels and bubbling flasks and all kinds of other apparatus covered the table. And I myself, in my shirt with its sleeves rolled back, my brow sooty—I must have looked half-mad.
Konrad walked into view, holding his hand over his nose.