“You may send the bill to Victor Frankenstein,” I said.
“He has agreed to this?” the tailor asked.
I did not bother to answer him. A wretched look came over his face as he nodded. “I am busy now,” he told me. “But if you come back next week I will have these articles ready for you.”
I took a step closer to him in order to move further out from the shadows so that he could better see my face.
“You do not understand,” I said. “Neither of us will be leaving your store until you have done as I asked.”
“But look at your size!” he complained. “I am not sure I have the necessary materials in stock to make these items!”
“I am sure you will find a way even if it means tearing up articles of clothing that you have already made.”
He nodded glumly, and after performing the odious task of measuring me, went to work. I watched for a few minutes, and then searched through a cabinet where I found a bottle of wine. My fingers were large and cumbersome but once I was able to grasp onto the cork I pulled it out easily without the need of a corkscrew. I drained the bottle in several gulps. The tailor watched this with amazement.
“I could find several more bottles of wine for you,” he offered.
I stared at him indifferently, not bothering to answer him. Instead, I sniffed out a loaf of bread and cheese that had been stored away, and set upon to greedily consume my meager feast, leaving not even crumbs. The tailor repeated his offer to find me more bottles of wine. Of course I knew his purpose for this; that he hoped I would drink enough wine so that I would be dulled and fall unconscious. I glared at him and suggested he get back to work.
“Are you planning to murder me?” he asked.
“I have no intention of doing so,” I said. “All I want is a pair of trousers and a hooded cape, and then you will not see me again.”
He nodded and commenced his work, silently cutting and sewing material until he had a pair of trousers made for me. I put them on and found them satisfactory. He next proceeded to work on the cape, and was almost halfway done with it when he complained bitterly how he had been saving the bread and cheese that I had eaten as a later dinner for himself.
“So you will go to bed hungry tonight,” I said. “That is not the worst hardship that can befall a man.”
He frowned severely at this, but held back any arguments he might have had for me. While he worked at finishing the cape, I rummaged through his stock and found material that could be used for constructing coverings for my feet. While the skin covering my feet felt thick and tough, I did not know where my future travels were going to lead me, and felt it wise to be prepared in case I needed to visit harsher climates.
The tailor noticed the materials I held and asked about them.
“You will be using these to fashion coverings for my feet.”
He snorted indignantly at that. “I am not a cobbler,” he stated.
“You are so close to completing my cape,” I said. “Do not make these labors of yours for nothing.”
He understood my implication. His face ashen, he hunched over the cape to add the hood so that he could be done with it. When he was finished, I slipped it on. A dressing mirror stood in the corner of the stop, and I crouched in front of it so I could see my reflection. The material used for the cape was black, which was better for hiding myself within, and the hood kept my face mostly hidden with only my knife-slit of a mouth showing. Even still, my reflection was of a hideous nature, and I knew I could not travel among men, not even with the concealment that the cape offered.
“Make those coverings for my feet so you can be done with me, and I with you,” I said, my voice indicating a weariness that had come over me.
The tailor took offense at having to do the work of a cobbler and his nose wrinkled at the prospect, but he commenced with his work, and in little time fashioned for me the coverings that I desired. I slipped them on my feet and decided that they would make do.
“You have done what I have asked and I will keep my word,” I told him, and I moved to leave his shop. As I removed the bolt that secured the door, he called out for me to stop. I turned and saw a look of consternation upon his face, as if he had a question of great importance that he wished to ask. I knew what it must be. To know what type of creature I was. Even though I had no idea how I could answer him, I told him to ask me his question.
“What is Herr Frankenstein’s address?” he asked, boldly. “I need it so I may send him the bill.”
“When I find it I will let you know,” I told him, and I left his store.
I laid on a rooftop across from the Ingolstadt Apothecary. Dusk had started to descend, and shortly thereafter the lamps were extinguished within the apothecary. When Herr Klemmen exited the shop, a sadness welled up within my chest. The man who had been my employer for seven years and whose company I had greatly enjoyed used to be a robust figure with a cheerful countenance and a youthful appearance that belied his age. The man who exited the apothecary appeared to have aged a great many years. His posture was badly stooped and his hair, which had last seen only touches of gray, was now snow white. A tiredness seemed to have settled over his features, making him almost unrecognizable. But he had the same bushy tangle of eyebrows and thick mustache that I remembered, although they also had turned the same white as his hair. The changes in his appearance were so dramatic that they surprised me, and it made me wonder how much time could have elapsed between Friedrich Hoffmann’s death and my birth within Frankenstein’s laboratory. Could it have been as many years as his appearance seemed to indicate?
I knew the route that Herr Klemmen would take to arrive at his home, and I moved swiftly to an area that would be mostly in shadows so I could intercept him. I waited until he walked past my hiding spot before I called out to him.
He turned, alarm showing in his face. “Do I know you?” he asked.
I did not want my size or my appearance to frighten him, so I remained crouched in the shadows, the black cape that I wore mostly hiding me.
“Herr Klemmen,” I said, “I come to you as a friend and not to do you harm.”
“Then show yourself to me.”
“I cannot do so, for the hideousness of my appearance would distress you far more than the coarseness of my voice. I need to tell you that Friedrich Hoffmann never betrayed your trust. He was innocent of the murder of your beloved niece, Johanna.”
Herr Klemmen put his hand to his heart, as if to keep it from breaking any further.
“That is impossible,” he said, his voice pained. “My dear niece’s locket was found in that villain’s pocket, and his coat stained so with her blood. I demand that you tell me how he could be innocent!”
“The night before your niece’s murder, a poison was slipped into an ale that Herr Hoffmann drank after his day’s labor at your apothecary. This poison caused him to collapse into a state of unconsciousness in that same alley in which he was later found. While he lay helpless the true murderer stained his coat with blood and placed your dear niece’s locket within Herr Hoffmann’s trouser pocket, all so that he would be unfairly blamed for her murder.”
Herr Klemmen’s lips trembled as if he were on the verge of weeping. “How … how could you know this?” he asked.
“I will tell you, but first answer me this. In your heart do you believe Herr Hoffmann capable of this crime?”
Herr Klemmen’s face appeared to crumble as he fought the tears that were struggling to come loose. He shook his head. “No,” he said at last. “Friedrich was like a son to me. It is unimaginable to me that he could have acted in such a vile manner. Explain to me how you know of Friedrich’s innocence?”
“I too have been greatly victimized by the same man whom I believe is responsible,” I said, my voice sounding as a mere echo in my ears. “Once I have proven his guilt, I will avenge your niece’s death. You have my promise.”
“Has this villain disfigured you? Is this why you refuse to show yourself to me? You do not need to be afraid. Perhaps I have medicine within my store that could help you. Let us go back there together.”
