“They won’t be so open-minded,” Henry said. “When news gets out, we’ll be accused of consorting with the devil.”
“Maybe not,” said Elizabeth hopefully. “Those with faith will see it as a miracle. Those without will see it as a… wonderful mystery. And after a few weeks…” She trailed off, at a loss.
“Our family will be reviled,” I said firmly. “It wouldn’t surprise me if a mob came to burn our home and us within it. We’d have to flee Geneva altogether, abandon our ancestral home, and try to start a new life in some far- flung barbaric place.”
Henry looked over at me sharply, alarmed no doubt at the thought of Elizabeth being torn from his life.
“That’s a drastic plan,” he said.
I almost smiled. “Indeed.” I waited a moment before saying, “There is one other plan that might work.”
The solution had presented itself to me this morning at breakfast, gleaming and perfect in my enhanced mind.
“What is it?” Elizabeth asked eagerly.
“We need to send him away at once. It’s not so draconian,” I added hurriedly, seeing the surprise and hurt on her face. “When we bring him back from the spirit world, we’ll let Mother and Father know but keep it secret from all but the most trusted servants, if any. He’ll be sent away under an assumed name. To Italy. Or even farther, preferably. Greece, perhaps, where he’ll be amply provided for, housed, schooled. He’ll grow a beard and bleach his hair and become tanned, and then when some months have passed, he’ll return to us as a distant cousin. He’ll have a new name, of course, but he’d still be Konrad and he’ll live with us happily ever after. And no one but us will know the secret!”
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then, sadly, Elizabeth remarked, “It seems too cruel, to send him away the very moment we bring him back.”
“But it’s only for a short time, so he can return to us forever.”
“Oh, I can see the cold logic of it,” she replied, looking at me with a suspicious tilt to her chin.
She knew me well, but I governed my temper. Gently I said, “I know it’s hard. But after all we’ve already suffered, it’s only a small sadness, and it’s the only practical way of guaranteeing that Konrad can rejoin us properly. Unless, of course, either of you have a better plan.”
She nodded reluctantly. “I can’t think of any better. You’re right, Victor. It seems to be the only way. Thank you.”
When I unclasped the lock and opened the cottage door, I heard a small, furtive sound, then a guilty silence. Quickly we moved inside with our picnic hamper and closed the door. I lit a lantern. What would my mud creature look like today? We walked around the table. In the hole was nothing but a tangled blanket, spattered with blood.
“Where is he?” Elizabeth gasped.
Henry swung his lantern high, splashing light around the cottage.
“What if some animal got him?” Elizabeth cried.
“Impossible,” I said, looking all about. “Animals are frightened of it.”
“Then, where is he?” she demanded, near hysterics.
“It’s moved, that’s all. It’s just woken up and crawled…”
Could I have been wrong? Could a fox have taken him in the night?
“You said he wouldn’t wake up!” she cried, peering behind timbers.
I heard a noise from a cluttered corner and rushed over, instinctively grabbing a pitchfork. My lantern swung wildly. A pair of eyes eerily flashed back the light. Something small and swift scuttled on all fours behind a broken wheelbarrow. Cautiously I stepped closer, lantern held high, pitchfork at the ready. Cringing against the wall was the naked mud creature, its tiny face ghoulish with spattered blood.
“He’s been hurt!” Elizabeth cried at my side.
“No,” I said dully, “he’s been eating.”
Scattered all around in the dirt were the gory carcasses of small animals. Several mice had been devoured, fur and all, with nothing left but their crushed heads. A rat had been chewed open and most of its innards consumed. In the mud creature’s hands was still clutched the red and sinewy remains of what must have been a chipmunk, judging by the tail.
“Good Lord,” murmured Henry, looking distinctly ill in the lantern light.
“He was hungry!” said Elizabeth. She stepped closer and said soothingly, “Konrad, it’s all right. Don’t be frightened.”
It was the first time she’d named it, and my skin unexpectedly crawled. She hurriedly dragged the wheelbarrow out of the way, and knelt.
“There, there, my little one.”
It made a small whimper and crawled toward her. She enfolded it protectively in her arms and stood.
“Could someone please get me a cloth and some water?” she said.
Immediately Henry went to the hamper and returned with a damp cloth. I was left the task of holding the lantern so the two of them could gently wash the clotted gore from the mud creature’s face and hands.
“There now. That’s better, isn’t it?” said Elizabeth.
It had grown to the size of a three-year-old. Its skin had lightened to the color of clay fired in a kiln, but there was no longer any hint of mud about this creature. Its skin was as soft and supple as any human’s, and it looked to all appearances like a normal toddler. It yawned, and I wasn’t surprised to see that its baby teeth had come in.
“Incredible, that it could catch so many,” I said, my eyes straying back to the slaughter behind the wheelbarrow. Had it hidden and lain in wait for them as they’d sniffed about, flashing out a little fist to squeeze the life out of them? Or had it actively pursued them, crawling with supernatural speed, pouncing upon them, jaws wide?
“He was starving, Victor,” Elizabeth said impatiently. “I was afraid he might be.”
“It wasn’t supposed to wake up.”
“Well, he did.”
“This is what comes when you interfere with things,” I snapped back.
“It’s pointless to argue about it now,” she said. “We have a child that’s growing very quickly, and he’s hungry.”
“I’ll bring some milk from the hamper,” said Henry. “He must be thirsty, too.”
I exhaled in exasperation, angry with Henry for playing such a perfect nursemaid-and angry with myself, too, for I hated being proved wrong. I’d been so certain the creature wouldn’t wake again. Nor would it have, if Elizabeth hadn’t meddled with it.
At the sight of the milk bottle, the creature greedily reached for it with both hands, seized it, and pulled it to its mouth. A good deal slopped over its face and body, and Elizabeth’s dress, but it drained the bottle in short order and then looked about pleadingly for more, making an anxious whine.
Henry spread our picnic rug and hamper on the dirt floor, and Elizabeth sat down with the child on her lap. She wrapped it in a blanket and began to set out the food. From her fingers Elizabeth fed it morsels of bread, cooked ham, salted fish-and it devoured them all.
I examined it carefully, this creature formed from mud, this being I’d helped create. In the space of a single day and night, it had transformed from a baby to a toddler. It was hard to comprehend the speed of such growth, the stretch of bone and flourishing of vein and sinew and muscle. Already this creature was much larger than our little William.
Most unnerving of all, it was getting more difficult for me to think of this creature as an it when I could now see myself and my brother in its features. Mother had had a portrait of Konrad and me painted when we were three, and the resemblance was striking.
The child gave a belch, spitting up some milk and food, and pushed away the bit of apple Elizabeth was offering. I winced at the sour odor, but Henry showed no distaste as he mopped up the child’s mouth.
“Apple,” said Elizabeth, bobbing one before it. “Apple.”
The mud child’s eyes followed the piece of fruit, but there was a curious blankness to its gaze.
“It’s nothing but appetite and impulse,” I said. “There’s no point trying to teach it anything.”
