were to be dashed this easily.
“You despair too soon, young sir,” said Polidori.
“How so?” I said. “Does it give an alternative ingredient?”
“It does not,” said the alchemist. “But the coelacanth is not extinct. It is a Lazarus taxon.”
This meant nothing to me, and I looked from Henry to Elizabeth in bewilderment. To my surprise, Elizabeth was smiling.
“Victor,” she said, “your Bible reading really is very poor. Lazarus was the man whom Christ raised from the dead.”
“Yes,” said Polidori. “‘Lazarus taxon’ is the name scholars have given to species that were once thought extinct. But then, lo and behold, one is found in the East Indies, or off the shores of Africa.”
“Must we travel so far?” I said, discouraged. But I was already wondering how such a journey could be undertaken.
“Lake Geneva will suffice,” said Polidori.
“Are you serious?” I demanded.
“Truly I am,” he said. “I know a fisherman who has seen one.”
“Do you trust this fellow?” Henry asked.
Polidori nodded. “And I will show you why.” Quickly he wheeled his chair to a large armoire. He opened it and with both hands extracted a long glass case. Inside was a startlingly blue fish, some two feet in length, with a great many fins.
My heart leapt, and I heard Henry draw in his breath, for it was the very image of the etching that Father had shown us.
“Why did you not tell us you already had one!” I exclaimed.
“Because it is of no use,” Polidori told me, sharply enough so that I felt rebuked. “It is dead two years. It has dried up.” He tapped the parchment on his lap. “What is needed from this creature is the foul oil it exudes when alive. It renders the fish inedible. Fishermen have no use for them. But the oils from the fish’s head contain nourishing and miraculous substances that are needed for the elixir.”
“They live in our own lake!” cried Elizabeth, looking at me happily and grasping my hands.
“I am told they can grow to six feet in length,” said Polidori. “Powerful creatures. This one of mine is small. A baby. And where there are babies, there are adults to make them.”
“Let us go at once, then,” said Elizabeth, “and charter a boat to trawl the waters!”
“It will not be so easy,” said Polidori gravely. “When I spoke to the fisherman, he said this was the only one of its kind spotted in fifty years. They are not usually caught in nets. They live deep. They crave the cold. And the dark. You might fish for months and years without catching one.”
“Then we’ll go deeper,” said Elizabeth with steely determination. “Where this fish lives, we will find it.”
“Can we not just send Krake to get us one?” said Henry with a feeble laugh.
“There are diving bells that can take a man to great depths,” I said, thinking aloud.
“That might not be necessary,” said Polidori.
We all looked at him expectantly.
“These fish fear daylight so much that even the bottom of the lake is not dark enough for them. There are, I’m told, narrow fissures that lead to subterranean caves where they take refuge.”
“But to find these caves underwater-,” Henry began with a frown.
“Would be nearly impossible,” I interrupted. “Unless there was another entrance from aboveground.”
“Just so,” Polidori said. “The mountains that encircle our great lake are mazed with caves. They go deep.”
“Has anyone you know made such a descent?” Elizabeth asked.
“Indeed,” said Polidori. “But he’s now dead.”
“What happened to him?” asked Henry nervously.
“He made one too many trips into the depths,” said Polidori. “He was an explorer, a mapmaker.” He paused and looked at me. “But I believe his widow still lives just outside the city.”
“Then we must pay her a visit,” I said.
Polidori escorted us back upstairs, and as we were departing his shop, he called me back. “Young sir, a word, if I might.”
Elizabeth and Henry waited for me outside in the alley.
“I’m not ignorant of the fact that these are difficult tasks,” Polidori said kindly. “And I know my help is limited. But I do have something that might, shall we say, brighten an underground descent.”
“Thank you very much,” I said, curious to know what it was.
“You created the vision of the wolf successfully, yes?”
“I did.”
“I had little doubt.” He seemed to be looking deep into me. I couldn’t help feeling he was pleased by what he saw. “And I’m guessing that alongside Agrippa and Paracelsus, you might have some other books of a practical nature within your reach.”
I looked at him, wondering if he were going to ask for them.
“If so,” he said, “you might want to consult Eisenstein. If you care to try your skills once more.”
Once more into the Dark Library in the witching hour.
I’d tried to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes I saw Elizabeth, and imagined it was me and not Konrad touching her. I’d stroke her cheek, and then bend to kiss her full mouth… and I couldn’t bear it anymore, so I’d hurriedly got out of bed, needing to distract my mind-and was glad I had some work to throw myself into.
In the library I spent nearly an hour peering at dusty volumes, until I found the right one, a slim green book with only the red initial E tooled in the spine.
Ludvidicus Eisenstein.
To my great relief the text was written in English. I began turning the gossamer pages, not exactly sure what I was looking for. My eyes skimmed the headings, surprised by how banal they were. The testing of ores.
The properties of dyes.
Ideal temperatures at which to fire ceramics.
Preparing saltpeter.
A lover’s elixir.
My eyes lingered on the page, dancing down the list of ingredients. But I forced myself onward, and shortly came to a page headed: Preparation of the flameless fire.
I read on. This must be what Polidori had meant for me to find. An unquenchable source of light in the darkness. He had singled me out. He sensed that I had a special aptitude, that I could create this substance on my own.
Imagine the look on Konrad’s face when he beheld it.
Imagine Elizabeth’s admiration.
I slipped the book under my robe, returned to my bedchamber, and slept deeply.
I am a thief.
In the afternoon Elizabeth left Konrad a secret note-and I stole it.
By sheer chance I was passing by the library, and through the leaded glass in the door I saw her drop a bit of folded paper into the Oriental vase. Just as she turned to look furtively about, I moved quickly past the window. I hurried down the hallway, rounded a corner, and waited until I heard her shut the door behind her. Her footsteps faded. I returned to the library. At the vase’s bottom was the note.
It was not for me, but I scooped it out and slid it into my pocket.
I did not read it at once, for I felt stricken with guilt.
But as I changed for dinner, curiosity and jealousy got the better of me. I unfolded the paper.
It said, “Will you meet me at midnight in the library?”
Later I lay sleeplessly in my bed. The church bells tolled eleven. I did not know what I should do.
I lie.
I know exactly what I shall do.
I saw her dark form by the window, looking out over the lake. She had no candle with her, and the moon and stars were veiled by cloud, so the room was very dark.
