Saville paused, as if for very careful thought; then said, as if granting a great concession, that he was willing to do so.
Frankenstein thought back with agony upon the night, his wedding night, when he had found his bride murdered. He expressed his sorrow that the book blamed me—he does not think that I am guilty.
I said, with a sudden glimmer of light dawning: "Nor do the ones who wrote and published it."
"Done merely for dramatic purposes, old, uh, old fellow." That, with forced jollity, from Walton.
"They have a more direct knowledge of the truth." It was a shot almost at random, but I think it told. Saville's jolly expression appeared to have frozen in place.
I called to my creator: "What success is your work having now, Victor? Does Molly breathe again?"
His gaze turned stony. "Death comes to us all_her glory lies in the chance that through her something greater may be accomplished."
"And what of Bess? You failed with her. What of William? Of Clerval? You were not there to try to bring them back. Odd, that there have been so many deaths around you. It has taken a whole book of lies to explain them."
There were cries of rage.
"Victor. What of Elizabeth? Where was Small on the night she died?"
Fresh cries of rage burst from our enemies' throats. I saw the truth, though dimly and without fully understanding it. Victor as always saw only what he wished to see.
I shook my head. "Enough of this. Saville, tell us, tell Victor and the rest, what it is you really want. I know you have no intention of letting me go free." I was certain that at the very least he was determined to recapture me for study and eventual dissection. My death would serve him better than my freedom, but he would much prefer to have me in his grip alive. Somewhere within me there lies the secret of godlike power and he means to have that secret at all costs.
A sharp outcry alerted me, and I turned. Small was there, on the roof above and behind me, approaching from an angle where he must be invisible to Freeman in his window at my side. But my creator had seen him, and had cried a warning. The little man was creeping forward on all fours across the roof, in his hand what looked like a short arrow or a long dart. The weapon, I realized, must be meant to paralyze and not to kill me.
The chief assassin, somewhat in advance of his cohort, the climbing footmen and gardeners with their darts and nets who were following close behind him, came within reach of my lunging arm. I caught Small at his treachery, dragged him from the roof, and wrenched the weapon from his hand. He screamed, for once not threats, but in sheer terror.
I held him over the edge of the roof, above a fall that ought to cripple if it did not kill outright. Then, twisting his arm, I urged him to confess what I now seriously suspected, that he had killed not only Clerval but Elizabeth, and perhaps William as well, with at least the tacit consent of Saville and Walton.
Elizabeth had been determined to keep Victor from returning to his nasty work, and she appeared to have at least a fair chance of succeeding. Small had also been scouting out the Frankenstein family, at Saville's orders, when William was killed.
There was a shout of great outrage from the master of the house, and bullets began to fly at me.
Small went over the edge of the roof, I presume to his death.
Freeman in the confusion got out of the house to me, grabbing a pistol on the way. The gun blazed in his hand, and I saw a liveried footman topple from the roof above, his own pistol discharging a ball that sang sadly past my head.
I gathered my strength and leaped for a tree branch, then clung to it with one hand and caught Freeman when he leaped after me.
From then on our flight was comparatively easy, and we successfully fled the estate.
My companion and I are now in agreement that we should make an effort to reach France. He is skilled and experienced in arranging clandestine Channel crossings, and he assures me that, working together, we stand a much better chance of surviving than would either of us alone. I am touched by this fairly obvious lie—clearly he, traveling alone, would stand a much better chance than when burdened with the company of such an obvious monstrosity as myself. Nevertheless I have accepted his help, and am determined to repay it when I can.
I watch him sleeping now, and I reflect upon America, as represented by this young man, and her meaning to the world. Some kind of a new beginning, certainly.
How is it possible that I know enough of history to reflect upon such matters? And yet I do.
Later_Talking again with Freeman. I had supposed that once we were able to reach France we should be free of pursuit, or very nearly so. But he has convinced me of what seems, upon reflection, to be no more than logical, viz., that the peace treaty is not yet concluded, though probably very close to being so. And Franklin himself has warned his son that nothing must be done to upset the negotiations at this most delicate stage. For Franklin to be implicated in the accusation of a prominent Englishman on charges of murder, kidnapping, and other foul crimes, would create the most dangerous sensation.
I have no wish to provoke a fresh outbreak of war. But still there are many scores that must be settled.
LETTER 8
February 22,1783 Along the English coast
Dear Sir—
I dispatch this letter knowing that if all goes well, I may reach your side as quickly as it does; and knowing, also, that it is entirely possible that all may not go well. Unlike my last to you, this message will be carried on the first leg of its journey by a comparatively common means of transportation.
My companion and myself are presently in a place of reasonably secure if uncomfortable shelter, waiting for nightfall, and the tide, when we are to risk a crossing of the Channel by one of the small private boats, a mode of transport with which I am by no means unfamiliar, after four years of almost regular use.
This crossing will be a new experience for my friend, but I am beginning to think that little else in the way of human adventure could possibly be new to him. I have whiled away the last hour or so in listening to some of his exploits, and find them almost incredible; they would be unbelieveable indeed, were it not for some of the things that I have already seen him do.
A little later_There are certain signs and portents along the coast, perceptible to an experienced eye, and indicating that a search for us is rapidly being organized; I am impressed by the power that Saville has evidently at his disposal, and by the speed with which he can call it into action. But all this is nothing new to me, or to my tall friend either.
I dispatch this in haste. God willing, it will get through to France, and so will we.
Hopefully, Your Son,
BF
LETTER 9
February 23,1783
Most Esteemed Parent—
Rejoice with us, for we have reached France alive!
I may describe the crossing as being not unattended by some little danger, for M. Saville's reach was evidently a little longer even than we feared. Had it not been for my own wits and experience, and the strength and sometime ferocity of my uncouth-looking companion, I fear that both of us would be feeding the Channel fishes at this very moment. Or else, ignominiously bound hand and foot, on our way back to a certain estate in suburban London, where a very uncertain welcome would await us.
The issue was for a little while in doubt, even after we had left the shores of Bonny England well behind us. The cutthroats with whom we had contracted for our passage had decided that turning us in to those who hunted for us, once we were under way and our suspicions allayed, would bring a greater profit and less risk than the service upon which we had agreed with them. Failing a good chance to betray us to our enemies, I believe they would have preferred to carry us only half way, and from that point carry on our purses for us.