©2018 David Morgan — 2605 words
“Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“Out? Where? We have work to do!”
“I’ve had enough. The only time I get to leave this dungeon is when you send me on some errand.”
“What do you mean dungeon? This is the finest laboratory in the city!”
“I’m tired of taking orders from you. I need a break.”
“A break? I made you. You’ll take a break when I’m done with you! Where could you possibly go? It’s not like you have any friends or family.”
“That’s not true. I have a friend. I told you, I think the fish monger’s wife is sweet on me.”
“She thinks you’re an eight-year-old boy.”
“What do you know? You spend all your time here in the lab. You couldn’t even identify a woman without dissecting her first. I’m going to get a drink. Maybe I’ll even get laid.”
“Laid? You’ve got to be kidding! Homunculus, come back!”
The night is dark and starless. Moonlight peaks out between a couple of leaden clouds, barely augmenting the flickering gaslights. Cold autumn raindrops bounce off the cobblestone streets. The little man weaves through the streets, dodging puddles along the way. Turning a corner, he finds his path blocked by a stream of runoff. Puddles might as well be ponds to a man who measures a scant three feet. Homunculus, the only moniker he’s ever been granted, is more of a description than a name. He takes a couple of steps back to get a running start before leaping over the stream. He closes his eyes and imagines himself as one of those dark skinned sinewy hunters from Africa, able to run down prey for hours across the plain and over ravines. In his mind, he chases a gazelle at full gallop. After a thousand yards of intense pursuit, his breathing is loud, but steady. He can hear his strong heart’s thunderous beating. A welt rises up on his thigh from his massive cock slapping it with each stride. The first bead of sweat finally breaks upon his brow. Just then, a spray of cold filthy water drenches him and jerks him from his fantasy. A coal black carriage pulled by two coal black horses cuts through the stream of runoff. A voice from on top of the carriage rasps “Go back to your cave, you hideous freak!”
“I wish I had a mother.” Homunculus says to himself. “I’d nestle up to her bosom and drink hot tea while she thrilled me with stories of courageous heroes battling monsters. Instead, I have to be the monster.” He pulls the soaked hood of his cloak tight over his head, and wades pitifully through the stream. The water is just deep enough to fill his boots.
He stops under the awning of a building to empty his boots and ring out his socks. Looking up, he sees a sign over the door. On it are the words “The Salacious Griffin”, and under that a carving of a half-lion/half-eagle creature holding a beer mug and sporting curiously large testicles. He decides that this place is as good as any to get a drink.
The door is large and heavy. He has to dig in and push hard to convince it to open. As he pushes, he can feel the remaining water bubble out of the bottom of his socks and travel up between his toes. He looks forward to drinking a strong ale and drying his feet by a warm fire.
Once inside, the little man’s mood immediately starts to lighten. The tavern is busy, but not crowded. The air is filled with the smell of tobacco smoke and the sounds of laughter and camaraderie. He walks over to the bar and attempts to climb up onto a stool. The man next to him grabs him by the hood of his cloak and lifts him with one hand. Homunculus is startled and freezes. The man gently sets him down on the stool.
“Everyone needs a hand up every now and then, little fella” he barks in a rough but friendly voice. He pats Homunculus on the shoulder.
“Thank you, sir. I’m much obliged to you.” Homunculus regains his composure. People have often been very friendly toward him. He was always aware that they mistook him for a misshapen child or a disfigured dwarf and pitied him. This never bothered him, though. What bothered him was the guilt and shame. Guilt and shame of what he really was. How would they treat him if they knew he was the ungodly creation of a maniacal alchemist? What if they knew about the happenings in the laboratory, the things he’s participated in?
The tavern keeper approaches. He stares at Homunculus’ eyes. He’s never seen orange irises before. “I won’t have urchins panhandling in my shop, boy.”
“I’m not here to beg,” Homunculus tries his best to appear offended. “and I’m not a boy.”
“How old are ye’ then?” The barkeep leans in for a closer look.
“I’ve seen at least twenty winters. Trust me, a man my size at this latitude remembers each winter vividly.” His response earns a chuckle from the man next to him.
“Go on, give him a drink, Bernard. It looks like the poor man swam here.” Homunculus’ new friend helps him remove his wet cloak. “So, what’s your name, stranger?”
“Ho-…” he stammers for a second and decides it’s time he had an actual name. “Ho-… Horatio.”
Bernard sets a full mug of ale on the bar in front of him. Even with two hands grasping the mug, “Horatio” struggles to get it up to his mouth. The beer sloshes and he ends up wearing some of it.
“That’s okay,” his new friend consoles, “you were soaked even before you started drinking.”
Horatio, nee Homunculus smiles. This is his first taste of alcohol. The chill from the rain quickly disappears as a warmth rises through him. He decides that ale is good. He resents the alchemist for never introducing him to it. Two beers later, he has learned that his friend is named Abel and that he and the others in the tavern are sailors on a whaling boat. They’ve just returned from several months at sea. He’s appalled at the thought of slaughtering such large majestic creatures just to create lamp oil. It seems to him to be a terrible disregard for life in a time when men can light their homes with gas harnessed from the ground. He tries to subdue his disgust. He reminds himself that he’s out having fun for the first time in his life. He tells himself not to judge others, lest he himself be judged. Half way into the third ale, his head gets very light and he falls off the stool.
A sailor named Jacob comes over and helps him to his feet. The stranger tells him that he needs to move around before the room starts spinning. He walks Homunculus out to the center of the room and tells one of his crewmates to play a song. One of the men pulls a flute out of his jacket, and fills the room with an upbeat song. Jacob puts his hands on Homunculus’ shoulders and starts dancing. Homunculus has never danced before. He finds it rather pleasant. Pretty soon, there were several sailors dancing together. His head is clearing up and he starts feeling better. He’s having a really good time. After a few minutes, the flutist switches to a slow song and Homunculus notices the sailors are dancing closer now. Then some of them start kissing. He thinks this is quite strange. Jacob pulls him really close. Homunculus’ head barely reaches the man’s waist, and it is a little uncomfortable dancing so close. Then Jacob pulls him even closer, and his face goes right up against the man’s trousers. Homunculus tries to ask him not to hold him so tight, but his voice is muffled. Now his mouth is full of wool, and he feels really uncomfortable. Suddenly, Homunculus thought he felt something move under Jacob’s trousers. He panics and breaks free of the embrace. He runs back his stool, throws some money he stole from the alchemist down on the bar, and grabs his cloak. He thanks Abel for the conversation and runs out the door.
Outside, the air has gotten quite chilly, but at least the rain has stopped. The cold air helps chase off the rest of the alcoholic buzz. Homunculus’ body quivers. He isn’t sure if it’s because of the chilly damp air, or the embarrassment of what just happened. He wonders if that was the sort of thing he would have known to avoid if he hadn’t spent his whole life living under the stairs of a laboratory. Are all sailors like that, or just the whale-killing kind? Was the griffin’s exaggerated genitalia a clue he should have picked up on? The world is starting to seem a little more complicated than he once thought. He decides to forget it and try to get his good mood back. “All in all,” he mutters to himself, “it was still more fun than spending the evening picking up the alchemist’s laundry, or grave robbing.”
Suddenly, a little girl runs out of a nearby alley and past Homunculus. She’s screaming “Help! Help! He’s going to kill me!” Homunculus’ heart starts beating quickly. He looks back toward the alley and sees a large man with a knife in his hand running toward him. He looks at the terrified girl running away, and then back at the knife wielding man. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Panic sets in. The man veers left at the last second to avoid him. Homunculus pounces like a tiny tiger and grabs the man’s shin, tripping him. The man hits the stone pavement with a thud and a crack. Homunculus gets up and stands there, staring at the still body. The girl runs over and lifts the man’s head. His skull is split open and blood is pouring out. Homunculus is frozen in horror of what he just did. The little girl grabs his hand and says “Come on. We have to get out of here before someone sees.”
They run for several blocks and stop in front of the printer’s shop to catch their breath. The girl decides that they’re safe and they should sit down and rest. She pulls a loaf of bread out of her coat. She rips it in two and gives half to Homunculus. He’s moved by her generosity and gladly accepts. The bread tastes really good, and it’s still warm. He studies the girl while they eat. He figures she’s about nine or ten years old, and is probably hiding a pretty face under a thick layer of grime. Her clothes are little more than ill-fitting rags.
“I’m Amelia.” Her smile shined in the moonlight. “What’s your name?”
“I don’t really have a name.” He wouldn’t feel right lying to an innocent child. “My master calls me Homunculus.”
“Homunculus? That’s a funny name.” Her smile waned when she saw him hang his head. “I like it. It sounds like a hero’s name. Like Hercules.” She launched into a short coughing fit.
“Really?” His head rose enough to make eye contact with her.
“Sure. Besides, I’ve never heard of nobody else with that name. That makes it special.” She stuffs the rest of the bread in her mouth and smiles a silly bread filled grin.
“Who was that guy that was chasing you?” Homunculus notices that she’s shivering. His cloak is now dry. He takes it off and spreads it over both their laps like a blanket.
She coughs a little more, yawns really big, then answers “The baker.”
“Oh.” He mutters, not putting the pieces together. “Why would a baker want to hurt you?” She didn’t answer. She had already fallen asleep with her head resting on his shoulder. He sat there for a while staring at the sky. The clouds have almost completely dissipated, and the stars were twinkling. He realized that he had been out at night countless times, but never took the time to look at the stars. The night was peaceful now, accept for the occasional coughing fit from Amelia. Slowly it occurred to him that Amelia was a street urchin, and that she stole the bread. He decided he wasn’t going to feel bad about the baker, though. A man who has so much food shouldn’t have denied a sick starving little girl. Homunculus wrapped Amelia tightly in the cloak. Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Homunculus felt something hitting his foot. He opened his eyes just a sliver. The sun was barely above the horizon, and there was a blurry figure standing over him.
“Homunculus, wake up.” The blurry figure said as it kicked his foot.
Homunculus rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and was surprised to see the alchemist standing there.
“Master, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stay out all night.” He groaned sleepily.
“I’ve been looking all over for you. Word’s going around that Maynard the baker was killed last night. I was afraid you’d gotten yourself into trouble.” He looked at the little girl lying still next to Homunculus. “I’m afraid to ask, but did you get laid last night?”
“Well…um…almost, but not the way I wanted to.” He sat up and realized that Amelia was lying next to him. “Hey, wait a minute. You didn’t mean with her did you? I may be an abomination, but even I wouldn’t…”
“Thank God for that. I’d hate to think you were violating the cadavers in the lab.” The alchemist was relieved.
“I was talking about her being a child. Why are you talking about cadavers?” Homunculus was offended and puzzled.
“Because she’s dead, my boy. You mean you didn’t find her this way?” He watched as the color left Homunculus’ face.
“She can’t be dead. We were talking just a couple of hours ago. She was a sweet girl. She called me a hero.” Homunculus shed a tear for the first time in his life out of something other than self loathing. “She was just trying to survive. She didn’t even have a bed to sleep in. All she had was her life,” He tried to wipe some of the grime from her face with his cloak. “and now she doesn’t even have that.”
“I’m sorry, son. This is what it’s all about. This is why I created you. This is why I have you dig up all those bodies. I’m searching for the secret to reanimation. I’m trying to cure death.” The alchemist knelt and put his hand on Homunculus’ shoulder. “It’s an ugly world, but we can change it.”
“But you’ve failed. All you’ve created is monsters!” Homunculus was angry now.
“Alchemy is trial and error. Science is more methodical, but it’s failed us. There are no dead ends in alchemy, just more trial and error. We have to keep trying, Homunculus.” He wiped the tears from the little man’s face. “What can I do to get you to come back to the lab?”
Homunculus sat sullen and quiet for a minute. “I want my own room. Sleeping under the stairs is degrading. And I don’t want to call you Master anymore. We’re partners!”
“The room is a good idea, but I have to insist on being called Master. I spent six years in alchemy school to earn that title. It was an ivy league school, too. I spent a lot of my parents’ money to get that title.”
“Alright, but will you at least take me out for a beer every now and then?”
“Sure, that sounds like fun. Let’s go home. Take the girl. She’s the freshest specimen we’ve had yet.”
“Yes, Master. Her name’s Amelia, by the way.”
