It took me weeks to return to Ingolstadt. My past four years of drifting had taken their toll, and the steps I had run on my initial flight I limped over now. Under normal circumstances, I may well have collapsed from exhaustion, but the hope of what waited in Ingolstadt drove me forward. Past men of high standing that threw bricks once they learned my name and kindly peasants who allowed me to share their nothing for the night amongst makeshift roofs. My final francs were given to these kind souls, while Curwen’s tiara was torn from my hands by a group of uprooted city officials. Even as I strained to open the gates of Ingolstadt University, the hatred in those well-dressed thieves’ tones echoed in my ears:
“Your brother unleashed a monster on the world!”
“No one cares for your kind! Move along.”
“The entire lot of you Frankenstein’s are mad!”
Lies. If they had seen gentle William or how Mama tended to Elizabeth when she fell ill, they would know my family had possessed the most admirable traits known to man! Had Victor not tainted our name, they would.
My clenched fist knocked on the library’s door. I had to swallow my hatred if I hoped to have my family returned.
“Mr. Curwen?” I called. Silence answered, and yet another unnerving piece of Ingolstadt fell into place. There was an absence of wildlife here. No birdsong or crickets reached my ears. All life seemed to have fled the abandoned grounds and left behind the thick silence that weighed so heavily in my lungs. I thought of Mama’s smile the time I had brought her one of those little moths that fluttered around the villa. The memory rooted me.
“Mr. Curwen, I see your light in the window. You have my word that this is no trap. I wish to help you!”
A muffled voice spoke behind the door. “You ran away.”
“Well, you can hardly expect a sane man to accept your claims so readily without some time for reflection! I have had time, Mr. Curwen, and I believe we want the same thing. I can be your assistant!”
“You?” hollow laughter echoed behind the door. “Your mind could not stand such unhallowed work. People that delve into the dark arts I excel at must be driven to the brink and happy to leap off the edge into whatever lies beneath the mist of forbidden knowledge.”
“I cannot talk fancy like that Mr. Curwen, I will not lie,” I admitted. “But surely there is some way I can contribute? Even if it is washing laundry, I can help!” I paused. “Sir, I am his family.”
“Yet your eyes show nothing but disgust.”
“Victor is dead to me, but I can separate the creator from the creation,” I said, resting on my cane. “If raising him means getting my family back, I will support you wholeheartedly.”
The heavy silence lingered, considering. Sliding latches gave me my answer as the door creaked opened. Curwen beckoned me inside with two fingers. For the sake of my family, I would ignore how black his pupils were.
**
“Now that you know my true intentions, I can be honest with you, Ernest,” Curwen said while leading me down the stone halls of the university’s main lecture building. My cane clacked with each step. “I am a merchant by trade, though the great forces that lurk beyond man’s understanding have always captivated me. Your brother was not content to live within the limits set by weak minds either. He was always striving to penetrate the veil, reading of Agrippa and Paracelsus.”
“The alchemists,” I butted in. Victor had spoken of them often at the dinner table.
“Indeed,” Curwen nodded, and I stood a little taller. “I had the pleasure to introduce him to even greater men such as Borellus and Alhazred! Victor wished to know the secrets of Mother Earth, but my research led me down the path of unseen forces that linger beneath the surface of the physical.”
“Black magic?” I questioned.
“Of course. For all our similarities, Victor found power in the physical flesh while I pried life from ungraspable darkness. Here is where my problem lies. Evoking the soul is a simple feat, but restoring the physical flesh for it to inhabit eludes me. My results are warped. Inhuman.” Curwen spat the last word. “Victor could merge both body and soul. While his creation was entirely unique, a little more experimentation could easily lock the souls of the departed into an original frame and make them unstoppable.”
“So you wish to bring Victor’s soul back and learn how to reanimate flesh?” I asked, trying to keep up. Rain pounded against the roof above us.
“Precisely.”
Victor’s pocket journal poked my side. I had read it as the rambles of a madman, but now those diagrams were horribly rational. Be it from shame or fear, I kept the book hidden as Curwen led me into a room of broken stone and makeshift tables crammed with misshapen bottles and bowls. I wanted to read those notes myself before I offered up Victor’s innermost thoughts to this necromancer.
“Pardon the state of my lab,” Curwen said as he kicked aside broken glass. “The univeristy decimated this room after my departure and I have not gotten around to refurbishing it yet.”
The stench of smoke and that nameless odor I had smelled on Curwen before clung to the surrounding walls blackened by scorch marks. My head throbbed as Curwen led me past pentagrams and other foul symbols overlapping each other on the floor. Despite our mission to bring about life, all I saw was death.
“Where is my brother, Mr. Curwen?”
“Boiled down to the base component of life. I have turned him to salt, and if we succeed, from it I shall return Victor in his entirety.” Curwen paused to study my frown, “The odor will pass with time, it is an undesirable side effect of my process, I fear.”
His voice sounded reasonable enough, but there was a story to those scorch marks I could not quite read. I wanted to quit this place as soon as I could.
“Let us finish your process, then,” I glanced around at the surrounding instruments, wondering what came next. “Do we repeat some spooky phrases or do a little dance? I may not look it, but I am quite good at keeping a rhythm!”
Victor had taught me that. He had made a habit of dragging me from bed night after night to lecture on musical theory and dance in our ballroom. I could never match his skill, but with time I became halfway decent. Victor had never given up on me, he was always saying I could do better, unlike the others who decided I could not dance at all. When I had first showed off my newfound moves, clumsy though they were, he had looked so proud.
I buried the memory as Curwen flipped through a crinkled book titled Qanoon-e-Izla.
“Pace yourself, Ernest. We need the proper supplies before attempting resurrection. That is where you come in, assistant,” Curwen shut the book and the sound echoed off the ancient walls. “I must admit that I never graduated from Ingolstadt. During Victor and I’s second year my work was exposed, and I paid dearly for it. Had Weishaupt still been headmaster, I assure you the Illuminati would have concocted some excuse on my behalf! It is a bloody shame they ran him out too. That is likely why Victor never mentioned me, I was an unsavory character after that.”
You would not be the first person he abandoned!
“How did you escape?” I asked, glancing into a large bowl with foreign inscriptions. “Grave robbery is punishable by death, if I recall?”
“My extensive knowledge of mathematics and traversing fourth dimension enabled my prison escape, though I fear my disappearance has left a high price on my head. Gathering supplies is extraordinarily difficult at present,” Curwen’s high shoulders fell. “You are the only one that can help me, Ernest. A fresh face like yours should not arouse suspicion.”
Curwen looked so small compared to the blackened walls around us. He needed me! The room and all its foul symbols fell away until the helpless man was all that remained.
“I will get whatever you need, Mr. Curwen,” I gave a little bounce and banged my head on an overhanging shelf.
Curwen straightened up instantly and pulled more of that odd jewelry from his satchel. “Excellent. A shipment of supplies is arriving near the docks tonight. Given my circumstances, I initially planned to meet at a later date, but the sooner we begin, the better. My currency should label you a friend. Barter for a wagon with what is leftover, and new clothing, too. The stench clinging to you is revolting.”
“Is it foul enough to wake the dead?” I chuckled, discreetly brushing dirt from my pantleg. Curwen narrowed his eyes, unamused. For all his gentlemanly gestures, the man clearly had little tolerance for humanity. Even so, I reminded myself why I joined him to begin with. “You are very kind, sir. I will not fail you.”
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