Kenneth Oppel - Such Wicked Intent

“He’s right,” I say, snatching up a crossbow and a sword. “It must be done.”

“Then I’ll fight with you,” says Henry.

But at that moment the spirit clock in my pocket begins to vibrate and shake with such frightening intensity that I fear the thing will burst apart. “It can’t be,” I mutter, pulling it out. “How can our time be up?”

“Can you slow it?” Konrad asks desperately.

“No… it’s too late. I can’t turn back time.”

He looks at me, desolate, and then his face hardens. “I’ll do it alone.”

“No,” I tell him. “You might need help. The help of the living.”

“I’m sick of listening to it!” he shouts. “Waiting for it to come!”

“It won’t come,” I tell him. “It needs more life to wake. Without us here it can’t wake fully.”

He shakes his head, refusing to meet my gaze. “How can you know that?”

“I won’t leave you here,” I say. “I’ll come back. I’ll solve this somehow.”

He is silent.

“I’ll find a way,” I promise him. “But don’t attack this thing on your own.”

He nods. I don’t want to leave him, not like this, with all hope drained from his face. I want to stay, to make amends, but the urgency to return to my real body makes a coward of me, and I run along with Henry and Elizabeth, her face streaked with tears, back toward my bedroom-and life-while Konrad remains behind once more, in the land of the dead.

When we came back to ourselves, we looked everywhere but at one another. From the corner of my eye I sensed Elizabeth’s anger just by the set of her mouth.

“Konrad’s in no danger right now,” I said, as much to comfort myself as the others. “The pit demon can’t be born without our energy.” I drew a weary breath. “I’ll think of something.”

“Perhaps your spirit friends can help you,” Elizabeth said coldly.

“There are none on me.” Leaving the spirit world, I was most careful to make sure of that.

Elizabeth looked at me. “You’re sure?”

“Will you check me?” I asked Henry.

Elizabeth turned to the wall, and I stripped and let Henry examine my body.

“He’s clear.”

“Even so,” said Elizabeth, “he has some in a flask in his drawer.”

“Just one,” I said. “And here, if you don’t trust me.” I took the key from its new hiding place and handed it to her. “You hold on to this.”

“Thank you, Victor,” she said, and took it.

After checking to be sure the hallway was clear of servants, she left for her own bedchamber. Henry and I were alone.

“Thank you,” I said, “for saying you saw how its face changed.”

Henry exhaled nervously, and I caught a welcome glimpse of my old friend. “I tell you honestly, I don’t know what to think.”

“Nor I,” I murmured.

“You haven’t made it easy for us, Victor,” he said. “Your behavior-”

I wanted to save him the chore of chastising me, and save myself the pain of hearing it. “I know. My behavior’s been odd.”

“I think sometimes you’re half-mad.”

“ Only half?”

He chuckled weakly, and it seemed impossible to imagine a time when one could live with a full and careless heart.

“Let’s sleep,” I said. “Things always seem clearer and more possible in the morning’s light.”

He stood and put a hand on my shoulder. I reached up and placed my good hand gratefully atop his.

“Good night, Henry.”

“Good night, Victor.”

I slept, but the pain in my hand inhabited my dreams, and when it finally woke me, I sat up, sweating, and lit a candle. I looked at the laudanum on my bedside table and wanted oblivion, if only for a few short hours. I opened the bottle and was about to drop some onto my tongue when I noticed that the locked drawer of my desk was open.

I leapt off the bed and rushed over.

The spirit clock and green flask of elixir were still there.

But the vial that held my one remaining spirit butterfly was gone.

I dressed quickly, ran to Henry’s bedchamber, and roughly shook him awake. He opened his eyes and sat up, chest swelling with surprise.

“Dress quickly,” I said.

He looked at my strained candlelit face. “What’s happened? What time is it?”

“We’re friends, are we not?” I asked.

With only a slight hesitation he nodded.

“I know lately we’ve butted heads, but you’ve been my dearest friend from childhood, and I need you to trust me now.”

“Victor, what’s going on?” he demanded.

“Elizabeth’s stolen the flask with the butterfly spirit.”

“How do you know she hasn’t just taken it away to stop you from using it?”

“She took the key to the cottage and Konrad’s brush from my bureau. There are probably more than a few hairs left in it.”

My friend licked his lips. “Surely she wouldn’t attempt such a thing.”

“She still doesn’t believe the first body was corrupted. We have to stop her.”

“I can’t believe it,” said Henry.

“If I’m right, we’ll find her bedchamber empty and she’ll already be at the cottage… at work.”

He swung himself out of bed, hurriedly pulled on trousers and shirt. We padded down the hallway to Elizabeth’s room. I opened the door, and we slipped inside. I parted the curtains at the foot of her bed and in the shadows saw her there, asleep.

I glanced sheepishly at Henry, but he grabbed my arm tightly.

“What?” I said.

He rushed to the side of her bed and shook her so violently that she came apart in an explosion of pillows and rolled linens.

Together we bolted downstairs, slipped on boots and cloaks, and launched ourselves headlong into the night.

Pain seared my missing fingers, and my limbs shook with fatigue. I felt like an invalid not properly recovered from a fierce ague. My body craved the rush of a spirit butterfly against my flesh, even though I knew it was precisely this that had enfeebled me. I slogged on through the pastures, Henry at my side.

The lock of the cottage was unclasped. I shuttered my lantern and cracked open the door to peer inside. A single lamp flickered on the crude table, mounded with damp mud. We were in time! She hadn’t created it yet. Behind the table Elizabeth sat on a stool, her back to us. She was very still, her head tilted down. She wore only her nightdress.

I whispered to Henry, “I think she’s sleepwalking. We must be calm but firm with her.”

“And do what?”

“You get hold of the flask that contains the butterfly spirit, and I’ll guide her back home.”

We opened the door and walked inside. Elizabeth did not even turn her head.

“What are you doing, Elizabeth?” I asked pleasantly, steeping slowly closer.

As I passed the table, I noticed Konrad’s hairbrush and a toppled flask, unsealed.

Empty.

“Look at him, Victor,” she said dreamily. “Just look at him.”

Still she kept her back to us, but now I could tell she cradled something in her arms.

“I made him anew,” she murmured.

“Ah,” I said, and took another cautious step closer.

She turned to face us then. In her arms she held a mud baby, but this one was much, much larger than the one we’d originally created. I didn’t know if she’d simply fashioned a bigger body this time, or if the particular butterfly spirit she’d used was more vital than the first. The baby’s body was still crude, its muddy limbs misshapen and scored with hasty finger strokes, but it was obviously, terrifyingly alive. Its crude legs and arms twitched, and its head shifted against Elizabeth’s nightdress.

Her gaze seemed directed at someone behind Henry and me, and I fought the urge to turn. It had always been her way, when sleepwalking, to look beyond what was right before her eyes.