Kenneth Oppel - Such Wicked Intent

For the first time I saw its face. Its finger-poke eyes had become serenely closed eyelids. The pinch of mud that had been its nose was now a smooth button with two delicate nostrils. The mouth that had been hastily traced with a fingernail was now a sweet bow-shaped pair of lips, parted slightly.

I willed my shoulders to drop, my stomach to unclench. Why had I not wanted Elizabeth to touch it? Was I afraid it would break? Was I afraid of what I might see in its face?

I looked down to its chest. At the place where we’d buried Konrad’s hair twined with the butterfly spirit, there was a faint blemish, like scar tissue.

The chest flinched once, then again and again, rhythmically.

A heartbeat!

Last summer in my makeshift dungeon laboratory, when I’d made my first alchemical substances, I’d felt a surge of accomplishment and pride, but that was nothing compared to the fevered exhilaration I now experienced. I’d helped create this with my bare hands. But even so, a rogue thought shouldered its way into my head.

I’ve helped create a rival for Elizabeth’s affections. Am I insane?

I watched, mesmerized. Was it breathing or not? And then it came, a slow gentle rise of the chest, and with the exhalation a supremely contented sigh issued from its little mouth.

With sheer delight Elizabeth beamed at us.

“It’s working,” she said. “It’s Konrad, growing.”

“Do you see what this means?” I exclaimed. “That butterfly spirit, it must be some kind of vital spark, the stuff of life itself! We’ve used it to create life!”

“Will it just sleep and sleep as it grows?” Henry asked.

“That seemed to be the way,” I replied.

I had the strangest sensation, watching Elizabeth hold it, seeing the raw love and tenderness in her eyes. She would never look at me like that. Perhaps she’d never even looked at Konrad quite like that. This was something else, something I remembered seeing on Mother’s face when William and Ernest were babies. And then, with a small shiver, I wondered if this made me the father of this mud creature.

Elizabeth and I had made this odd baby together, both our hands shaping him in the earth. Eyes, nose, mouth, heart. We’d fashioned it from the clay. What a strange little family we were.

Its nostrils flared as it drew in breath.

“Does it look like Konrad?” I asked.

She gave a soft laugh. “Can’t you see it?”

“No.”

“You don’t even recognize yourself, then,” she said in gentle mockery.

As though I’d inhaled some strange ether, I was suddenly aware of Elizabeth’s potent new womanliness, and it caused a hungry stirring in me. My body hadn’t forgotten how she’d pressed herself against me in the spirit world. I looked at the mud creature still cradled in her arms.

“You should put it down,” I told her.

Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow. “You just don’t like me holding him. Admit it! Only Victor’s allowed to be the center of attention.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It needs to be in the earth.”

“Does he really? Or are you just making that up?”

I tried to rein in my temper, never easy at the best of times. “I was the one who read the cave writing. And I’m telling you, the mud man was never touched, and it stayed in the ground the whole time.”

Disconsolate, she looked at the hole in the floor. “It seems too cruel.”

More gently I said, “It can’t grow otherwise.”

I gave a small jerk of surprise as the creature’s little arms flexed suddenly. Its head wobbled from side to side, its eyelids squeezed tighter, and its mouth turned down with displeasure.

“It’s waking,” I hissed. “Put it down, now!”

Elizabeth hesitated, and I angrily reached out to take it. But she held it tighter against her.

“He’s hungry, Victor. Look!”

It was blindly nuzzling against her blouse.

“You can’t feed it,” I said irritably, for I found the sight both embarrassing and arousing. “It doesn’t need food.”

“Clearly he does,” said Elizabeth, for the creature was even more agitated now, and from its mouth came a small unearthly cry. I’d heard many babies cry in my life, and each one was uniquely different, but there was something about this sound that raised the hairs on the back of my neck, a keening rattle, like the wind blowing through naked branches.

“Poor little thing. He’s parched!” Elizabeth said. “There’s milk in the hamper. Hold him a moment, Victor.”

“This wouldn’t have happened,” I muttered, “if you’d put it back sooner.”

“Just take him,” she said, and I was acutely aware that I did not want to hold it. I’d held William many times and knew how to do it properly, but the moment this mud creature was in my arms, it began to wail. I felt its little body tense, and its limbs flailed about in fury. Its eyes remained closed, for which I was strangely grateful. No doubt it would urinate all over me shortly.

“Ah, Victor, he has your temper,” commented Henry wryly. “What a surprise.”

“Care to hold it?” I snapped.

Henry hesitated for a moment, eyes wide, and then surprised me by nodding. I gratefully deposited the thrashing thing into his arms, and stood back to enjoy Henry’s suffering. He had no siblings, no experience dandling babies and jollying them along as I’d had. But the moment the mud creature left my arms, its wails quieted. Henry held it well, I must admit, snugly against his chest, swaying it gently from side to side while mumbling something that sounded like Shoo-ba-labba-shoo-ba-labba-shoo-shoo.

“‘Shoo-ba-labba-shoo-shoo’?” I said mockingly.

“I don’t know where it came from,” he replied a bit sheepishly. “Perhaps my mother sang it to me.”

“It did the trick,” Elizabeth said, shooting me a withering look as she returned with a jar of milk. “You have a father’s touch, Henry.”

The pleasure at this compliment blazed from Henry’s face like a beacon. Elizabeth unscrewed the jar of milk, dipped a rag into it, and then pushed a sodden corner between the creature’s lips. It grunted and proceeded to suck hungrily. While Henry held it, Elizabeth fed it until its lips grew lazy and its body limp.

In silence I watched this whole scene, and then noted the way Elizabeth smiled up at Henry, how Henry smiled back, as if they’d just shared something profound and immensely satisfying.

“It’s asleep,” I said tersely. “It needs to go back now.”

Biting her lip, Elizabeth looked down at the hole. “At least let me put a diaper on him.”

“You brought a diaper?” I asked.

“And a blanket.”

I sighed. “Honestly.”

“He might get cold,” she protested. “He’s just a little baby. How can you be so heartless?”

“There’s no point pinning on a diaper,” I said. “It’ll be too small for him within hours. It’ll only hurt him.”

“Oh,” she said. “I suppose you’re right. May I?” she said to Henry, reaching out for the baby. She took it carefully in her arms, smiling. Then, with great reluctance, she placed it back in the hole. Even I had to admit it seemed a pitiful sight. Henry must have gone to the hamper for the blanket, and he gently tucked it around the baby.

“Is it even safe to leave him here?” she asked worriedly.

“Yes. No harm will come to it.” I closed my eyes to better remember the images from the cave. “Even animals wouldn’t go near it. They were… afraid.”

She still knelt by the hole. “Maybe we should bring him inside the chateau.”

I looked down at her in horror. “We can’t risk it! Someone’ll see!”

“But what if he wakes up and cries?” She looked truly distressed. “I’d want to be there to comfort him.”