The Moon and the Sun

“Your Majesty,” Yves said, “the sea monsters are ordinary animals.”

The deaf-mutes lifted the cart onto the plank floor and pushed it to the lab table. The sedan chair followed; the carriers lowered it and fled the tent, bowing.

His Majesty did not bother to dismiss his deaf-mutes; he treated them, as always, as if they hardly existed. Count Lucien remained by his side, leaning easily on his staff. Marie-Josèphe returned his polite nod with a quick curtsy. Yves helped His Holiness from the palanquin and conducted him to an armchair.

Exhaustion paled the old man’s face, and he leaned heavily on Yves’ arm. His Majesty swung himself out of the cart and hobbled to the dissection table, leaning only a little on Count Lucien’s shoulder. He gazed with fascination at the creature. His Majesty showed no signs of having been up all night; even the swelling of his gout had eased.

“Every feature I’ve studied so far,” Yves said, “every muscle, every bone, has its match within every other furred creature known to natural philosophy.”

“Father de la Croix,” His Majesty said, “I did not charge you to find what is common about the sea monsters. I charged you to find what is unique.”

“I will look, Your Majesty.” Yves took up his heaviest lancet. “Are you ready, sister?”

Marie-Josèphe settled a fresh sheet of paper.

Yves sliced open the creature’s belly, exposing its viscera. The intestines and stomach lay flat and shrivelled, empty of food. Perhaps the male sea monster had successfully resisted being force fed. Marie-Josèphe regretted the creature’s death, but she was glad the organs would not explode upon His Majesty and His Holiness when Yves pierced them.

“The intestines are rather short for a creature that must sustain itself mostly on seaweed, with an occasional garnish of fish,” Yves said, “by which I surmise that seaweed is easily digested.”

He cut the intestines out delicately, measuring and inspecting, taking small samples, placing the organs in jars of spirits. Marie-Josèphe drew as best she could in lantern light. The sea monster’s intestine sported an appendix, unusual in most animals. Yves dissected out the kidneys, the pancreas, the bladder; he even sought stomach-stones and kidney-stones. He found nothing unusual or notable in the lower abdomen. He might have been dissecting any carcass, or even the corpse of a man.

His Majesty watched with increasing impatience; His Holiness with increasing discomfort. Count Lucien watched unmoved.

With a heavy pair of shears, Yves cut open the ribs at the breastbone. He separated the rib cage, exposing the lungs and the heart.

“It is as I thought,” Yves said. He probed delicately into the chest, moving aside lobes of the lungs to expose the heart and the various glands. “The creature presents no attributes of the fish, neither gills nor swim-bladder. It is very like the dugong. And as you have seen, Your Majesty, the sea monster possesses internal organs normal to all mammals.”

“Father de la Croix, whether the monster is a fish or a beast is of no interest to me. What is of interest is its organ of immortality.”

“I’ve found no evidence of such an organ, Sire. Immortality, like the transmutation of gold, is the province of alchemy, abhorred by the Church and by natural philosophy.”

“You dismiss ancient tales cavalierly, Father de la Croix,” His Majesty said. “How did you come to accept this undertaking, if you believe my quest futile?”

“I wished to please Your Majesty,” Yves said, taken aback by the King’s sharp tone. “The quest for the sea monsters was anything but futile. As for the organ of immortality, it exists, or it does not exist. My beliefs are immaterial.”

Pope Innocent stared at him, exhaustion transformed by outrage.

“That is to say, I might form a hypothesis, but it must be tested…” Yves’ voice trailed off. His quest for knowledge had for an instant overcome his restraint; he was doing himself no credit with Pope Innocent.

“If you believe the organ does not exist,” His Majesty said, ignoring Yves’ embarrassment, “you surely will not find it.”

“If the monsters impart everlasting life to those who consume them, Sire,” Yves said, “why, how many sailors would be a thousand years old?”

Louis waved away the objections. “Sailors live a hard life. Protection against old age and disease would never save a man from accident or drowning.”

“Cousin,” Innocent said, “perhaps your natural philosopher has the right of it. God drove us from Eden, after all, where we were immortal. Now we are mortal, but we live in the hopes of joining Him in everlasting life.”

“If God created an immortality organ, and commanded us to use beasts as we will—then it is His will that we become immortal.”

Innocent frowned thoughtfully, troubled. “Earthly immortality would be a burden, not a satisfaction.” He hesitated. “Yet, if one were called to continue God’s work—”

“As I am,” His Majesty said.

“—one would submit… however burdened by Earthly flesh.”