Free This Dark Endeavour (with Bonus Material) by Kenneth Oppel

said with a grin.
    The alley stank of urine—and worse. The few shops had a defeated look about them, tattered awnings and dirty windows with dusty displays that probably hadn’t been changed for years.
    “This must be the place, here,” said Henry. The windows were shuttered, but over the door hung a wooden sign. Flaking paint showed an apothecary’s mortar and pestle.
    “It does not look promising,” said Elizabeth drily.
    In the door was a small, grimy window, but it was too darkinside to make out much more than the shadows of shelves. The place looked all but abandoned, but when I turned the knob, the door swung open and a small bell clanged.
    I entered with Henry and Elizabeth. “Good morning!” I called out.
    Mingled with the fragrance of a hundred different herbs was dust and a powerful smell of cat. At one time the shop must have been more prosperous, for the shelves were of rich dark wood. On our left was an entire wall of drawers, each fancily labelled.
    “Hello?” I called out again.
    Henry drew open one drawer, and then another. “Empty,” he said. He looked all about him, wide eyed, perhaps recording every detail for some horrifying poem or play he would later concoct.
    Directly before us was a long counter, behind which were shelves filled with elaborate mixing vessels. It did not look like anything had been mixed here in quite some time. In the middle of the shelves was a glass-paned door. I saw a flicker of light, and then a shadow growing larger.
    Quite suddenly the door swung open and a man in a wheelchair propelled himself into the shop. His legs were wizened, the fabric of his breeches loose and flapping. He seemed no more than fifty, and though his upper body was powerfully built, his face had a gaunt and defeated look to it. His wig rested crookedly, and was many years out of fashion. But it was his eyes that most gave him the look of defeat. They contained not a spark of light or hope.
    He seemed surprised when he saw us. No doubt he didn’t get many customers as well dressed as us in his shop—if he got any customers at all.
    “How may I help you?”
    “You are Mr. Julius Polidori?” Elizabeth asked politely.
    “I am, miss.”
    The three of us glanced quickly at one another, for this fellow seemed so far from the picture conjured by Maria’s story. A healer. A man of power who cured a little girl when all the wise men of Europe could not.
    This man before us positively reeked of failure.
    I felt an instinctive disdain rising in me. What kind of healer could this be? This broken person in a chair with a crooked wig? His shop was a ruin. No doubt his clothing had not been laundered recently. He was laughable. I was tempted to turn and leave that very moment.
    “Might there be some medicine you’re needing?” he asked.
    “I think perhaps—” I began with a sniff, but Elizabeth cut me off.
    “Indeed there is,” she said, and gave me a warning look, for she knew how quickly my temper could flare. In that way, we were not so different. To Polidori she said, “But it is of an … unusual nature.”
    He looked at us steadily, saying nothing.
    I was still far from convinced any good could come of this, but we were here now. I drew closer to the counter. “You are the same apothecary who cured the general’s girl, some years ago?”
    He drew in a breath and released it with a rueful nod. “I am.”
    “We have heard that you are a man of wide-ranging knowledge,” Elizabeth said. “A healer with remarkable powers.”
    He actually laughed then, bitterly. “Is this some joke? Have you nothing better to do with your days?”
    “No, sir,” said Henry. “I mean, no, this is not a joke and we are here on a matter of the greatest urgency.”
    “We’re searching for the Elixir of Life,” Elizabeth said quietly.
    Polidori stared at us with his dull eyes. “Good day to you, young sirs, and young lady,” he said curtly, and with a deft movement, swivelled his chair back toward the