This Dark Endeavour (with Bonus Material) (33 page)

“It goes and goes,” Ernest said.

“It will slow down eventually,” I replied.

I looked at my younger brother, pleased by his delight. “So, what do you say, Ernest? Is that a good toy?”

“Yes,” he said, stopping the pendulum and then setting it going in a different direction.

“It’s oddly hypnotic,” said Mother, “like looking at the flames of the fire—never the same from moment to moment.”

I wished Father had not gone off so quickly. I would have liked to feel his hand clap me on the shoulder.

I worried that he blamed me. It was never spoken; it didn’t need to be, but I felt it as an invisible barrier between us. During the quest to make the elixir I had deceived him, and kept secrets from him, and he’d ordered us to abandon the search. But I’d ignored him.

I wanted things mended between us. Konrad’s death felt like a great fissure through my being, and another blow would crack me apart entirely.

And yet here I was, about to deceive Father again.

As we were finishing dinner, Justine, our nursemaid, came to tell me that William, my littlest brother, had been calling for me from his crib.

I quickly finished my torte and left the table. In the dim nursery I saw William in his crib, still awake, lying on his stomach, with his arms circled around his favorite two toys, a knit elephant and a soft flannel horse. He was not quite one yet, and at the sight of me his legs wriggled against the sheets in excitement, and he beamed. A more blissful face I don’t think I’d ever seen.

“Tor,” he called me.

“What are you doing, wide-awake?” I placed a hand on his back, his warm head. He pushed up, and I leaned down to kiss him. “I love you, Willy. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah,” he said, and dropped back down, hugging his animals closer to his face.

For a moment my resolve melted. My apparatus was finished and waiting in my bedchamber for my midnight business. I could take it apart. I could put it away. I could sink the metal book in the lake. But I knew I wouldn’t. Once an idea had set its course in my head and I’d fixed my destination on the horizon, I’d never been able to tear my gaze away.

I embraced William once more. How I envied him—the world was such a simple, good place. All he needed was a soft bed, two toys, and a kiss on the head.

* * *

After midnight, by candlelight, I spread upon the floor the spirit board I’d fashioned. It was a large piece of leather on which I had written the letters of the alphabet, well spaced, around the edges, in the particular manner described in the instructions. Rising from the center of the board was the wooden tripod that held the pendulum.

I placed more candles around the periphery of the board so I could see properly. I had a sheaf of paper, two inkwells, and an extra quill nearby for good measure.

I skimmed over the instructions once more. Rain pattered against my window, and when I glanced up, I had the fleeting sensation that someone was looking in at me. I went to close the curtains, then returned to the spirit board. I crouched beside the pendulum and deliberately, in accordance with the instructions, pricked my finger upon one of the weight’s points. I felt its purposeful vibration and quickly stood. I picked up a piece of paper, dipped my quill into the well, and cleared my throat.

“I invite you to speak,” I said to the empty room.

No sudden draft chilled my flesh; no candles guttered.

“I invite you to come,” I whispered.

My door opened, and every hair on my neck bristled as a shadow darted into the room. Almost at once the flickering candlelight showed me the face of Elizabeth, and my terror was replaced with indignation.

“What’re you doing here?” I demanded.

“What is it
you’re
doing?” she countered, staring at the board, and then my pendulum. “I knew that machine of yours was no mere toy.”

I made no reply.

“What does it do?” she persisted.

“I don’t know yet.”

“What is it
meant
to do?”

“Allow me to talk with Konrad.”

Her face was waxen. “Is this some invention of yours?”

I shook my head. “In the bonfire there was a book that wouldn’t burn. Well, it wasn’t really a book but a metal box, and in it were instructions for conversing with the dead. It claims that their spirits remain a time on the earth, unseen by us, weak and powerless to communicate unless we help them.”

“And who was the author of this book?”

I shrugged. “Some magician or necromancer. What does it matter?”

“But you don’t even believe in such things!”

I chuckled mirthlessly. “I don’t know what I believe anymore. My faith in all things is shaken. Modern science failed me. Alchemy failed. I trust nothing but am ready to try anything.”

She looked horrified. “The occult? I actually believe in a world beyond ours, Victor. I haven’t seen them, but there may truly be ghosts—and devils, too—and I think it very unwise to try to summon them.”

“All I know is that I want to talk to Konrad.”

From the corner of my eye I saw the pendulum twitch.

“Look!” I whispered, pointing.

“It’s a draft,” she breathed.

“I feel no draft.” The pendulum weight flinched once more and quivered slightly, as though waiting.

“How do you make it move?” she demanded, her voice tinged with both anger and fear.

“I’m doing nothing!” I held out some paper and my extra quill and inkwell. “Curious? Sit across from me and write down any letters the pendulum points to!”

“I don’t like this, Victor!”

“Leave, then! Get thee to a nunnery!”

She looked at me, hesitated for only a split second, and took the paper and quill. I couldn’t help smiling. Elizabeth was never one to back down from a challenge.

“I part the veil between our worlds,” I whispered. “I invite the spirit of my brother Konrad to join us. I invite you to speak, Konrad.”

The pendulum quivered again.

“I beg you, speak.”

Elizabeth gasped as the weight jerked, and my eyes locked on to its long tip, watching the letters it pointed to as it swung. Hurriedly I began writing.

“Copy them down,” I panted. My entire body felt suddenly sheathed in ice. Back and forth, side to side, the star-shaped weight jerked swiftly.

“They’re not forming words!” Elizabeth said.

“Don’t worry about that now!” I said, for the pendulum’s movements were becoming faster still. It flailed about the spirit board, and I could scarcely keep up with its spastic motions. I was scribbling madly, the ink smearing in my haste.

The pendulum’s frenzy thrilled me—and terrified me too, for it was like a bird trapped in a room. I lost track of time and was only aware of filling page after page until, with a final violent spasm, the star-shaped pendulum broke its tether, flew across the room, and hit the wall. I realized I was holding my breath and let it out, feeling as though it had been
my body
, and not the pendulum, lashing about.

I looked at Elizabeth, then down at my pages of desperate letters.

“This isn’t some trick, Victor?”

“You saw it moving!”

She moved around the board toward me, and for a moment I thought that she was going to embrace me, but her arms caressed only the air in front of me, hands brushing back and forth.

“What’re you doing?” I demanded.

“Checking for strings. You might’ve made it move yourself.”

“Why would I do such a thing?” I retorted, furious.

She was trembling, and I suddenly realized how frightened she was. I too felt a watery weakness in my joints. Quickly I pulled a blanket from the end of my bed and draped it around her shoulders.

“Some force animated the pendulum,” I said quietly.

“And you truly think it was Konrad?”

“There might be a message.” I was almost afraid to examine the pages I held, but I forced myself.

lksjdflkjlskdjflkjcomelsjdflksjldkfjlk

draiseioureyjnmnsmeoeriytoiskldfqweqwemlk­sjdflkjlskdjflkjcomelsjdflksjldkfjlksdraiseio

ureyjnmnsmeoeriytoiskldfmnkjjkhoiulksjdflkjlskdjflkj

comelsjdflksjldkfjlksdraiseioureyjnmnsmeoeriytoiskldfi

ucvzxsjkhklksjdflkjlskdjflkjcomelsjdflksjldkfjlksdraiseio

ureyjnmnsmeoeriytoiskldfioubvwtygflksjdflkjlskdjflkjcome

lsjdflksjldkfjlksdraiseioureyjnmnsmeoeriytoiskldf . . .

“It’s all gibberish,” Elizabeth said, looking up from her own papers. “Nothing.”

I shook my head in dismay.

“I’m disgusted with myself,” she said vehemently, and then turned on me. “Isn’t there enough misery in this house already, without you inviting more?”

I let the papers slip from my ink-stained hands and sank to the floor.

“You’re not the only one who suffers, Victor,” she said. “Everyone in this family is suffering. I’ve seen my entire future change.”

“I lost my
twin
,” I growled.

“And I lost my future husband.”

I said nothing, the word “husband”clattering painfully inside my mind.

“But what if it was Konrad?” I asked. “
Trying
to talk to us?”

Her eyes closed for a moment. “I should’ve walked out on this. You’ll only torture yourself—and me too.”

My eyes settled on the pendulum. “There is a definite power in it,” I persisted. “I felt it.”

“If there is,” she retorted, “it’s not one we’re meant to harness.”

“Where is that written?” I said defiantly. “By whose law?”

“You didn’t need to build this device, Victor,” she said. “You had a choice. But I can see you’re intent on dwelling only on the darkest things.”

I watched as the door closed behind her, and with a sigh I bent to gather my papers from the floor. Blinking to clear my tired eyes, I suddenly saw, among the garble of letters, a word.

I stared, then snatched up my quill and circled it. My eyes roved across the lines, and I circled another word, then another and another. The same three words repeating again and again.

Heat and ice squalled across my flesh. Could it be coincidence? Or my own mind, knowingly forcing my hand to write the words, so desperate was I for a message from my twin?

Outside the window rain pelted the glass. I hurriedly gathered Elizabeth’s discarded papers, and my gaze flew over them. There. And there! And there!

Come raise me.

Come raise me.

Come raise me.