Chapter Two

Karel pushed aside a branch of a tree as he followed Hannibal through the forest. The sun was rising. It was their fourth day together and as they walked, Hannibal called back words for Karel to repeat.

"Exceptional."

"Askeptonel."

"Exceptional."

"Xeptonal."

Hannibal, surprisingly enough, wasn't frustrated with Karel's attempts at the words. Perhaps it was because Karel really was trying his best. "Exceptional. Pay attention to how it rolls off of your tongue."

Karel scrunched his face up and tried again. "Ex-sep-ton-el."

"Close. Again," he commanded, this time not giving the example for Karel to follow.

"Exseptional."

The sound was very close—close enough that after having Karel repeat the word three more times, Hannibal moved onto the next word: "Exasperating."

"Xazper—what is it?"

"To be violent," he replied. "Now say it: Exasperating."

"Exzazperateng."

"Exasperating."

"Exasperating."

Hannibal smirked. At least the boy was learning quickly. "Repeat it three times."

"Exasperating, exasperating, exasperating," said Karel.

"Give the definition."

"To be violent," repeated Karel as they climbed a hill. They were getting close the southern borders of France at long-last.

"Good," said Hannibal. They stood on the crest of the hill and looked out at the countryside. His stomach grumbled and he held it, looking out at the farmhouse nearby. His eyes slid over to Karel. He was hungry and Karel was readily available, and weak, too. The two of them had been eating mainly rabbits and squirrels since they had met, but with the sight of a small farmhouse in the distance, Hannibal felt that he didn't need to kill Karel just yet.

He started down the hill and towards the farmhouse. Since there wasn't a single house for miles, this wouldn't be difficult and no one was bound to interfere.

"Where are you going?" Karel asked, following him down the hill.

"To get some breakfast," replied Hannibal.

"Oh, I see," replied Karel, a smile forming on his face. No doubt Hannibal was going to ask the nice people for some food. He jogged along behind the older boy, the smile plastered to his face at the prospect of a real meal. He thought of fluffy waffles and rich syrup, but his heart fell when he remembered things like those had been outlawed when the war had started. It was certainly different when one wasn't actually fighting in the war anymore. One almost forgot that there was a war.

By the time they had reached the small house, the sun was at nearly ten o'clock. Hannibal lifted one of his gloved hands and rapped on the peeling white door, waiting calmly for an answer.

Karel rubbed his hands together. It didn't matter how high the sun got—it was still freezing outside. He blew into his hands, wishing he had better gloves, like Hannibal's.

The door creaked opened and a young woman, perhaps still a girl, squinted out at them, her blonde hair tied up in braids behind her head, sheltered from view with a white hat. She wiped her damp hands on her white apron and asked in French if she could help them.

Hannibal asked, "Do you speak English?"

She nodded, "Yes. What I do for you?" Much like Karel, her English was very, very choppy and unused.

"I might be too forward in asking, but we have been traveling for many days and have had little food. Could you perhaps spare a morsel?"

She squinted at them and finally replied, "Five francs a piece, and not a bit less."

"Done," replied Hannibal.

She nodded and opened her door for them to come in without bothering to ask where they were from. Doing such a thing had become risky—asking the name of a capital city had once been the norm, but by now everyone knew everyone else's capital city.

She motioned at the table and Hannibal and Karel both sat. "I will make cold bread and pork."

Hannibal eyed her carefully and asked, "Who lives with you, mademoiselle?"

"My husband."

"Where is he?"

"In the fields," she replied calmly as she poured two small glasses of milk and coffee and put some bread out, thinly spreading butter over the surface. She left to the cellar to find some salted pork and returned moments later with the meat. She cut it accurately into two squares of three inches and set it on the plates. "I cannot give you more," she said, setting their meals on the table.

Karel smiled and unfolded his napkin. "Thank you, it looks…wonderful? Did I use it well?"

Hannibal nodded and lifted his knife delicately and began to cut into the pork.

She held her hand out. "Ten francs."

He lowered his knife and reached into one of his pockets, pulling the money out and handing it to her. She stuffed it into a pocket in her apron and left the kitchen to return the rest of the pork to the cellar.

Karel pushed a piece of the pork into his mouth and frowned slightly. "It is stale when it is cold."

Hannibal nodded and replied, "It is the best we can do for now." He cut the pork carefully, listening for when she returned up the stairs. "Karel, look outside. Do you see her husband?"

Karel leaned back in his chair and looked out into the field. He squinted against the sun and finally nodded. "He is near the forest."

"How far?"

"A half-mile, one o'clock."

Hannibal nodded and wiped his mouth with his napkin and took a gulp of the milk. The coffee he could do without for now.

The young woman returned and stood, leaning against the doorframe, her eyes focused on them like a hawk on a pair of snakes.

"Mademoiselle, perhaps you could refill my milk?" Hannibal asked, lifting his empty glass to her.

"That will be three francs," she said coolly.

He nodded and pulled the money out.

Karel's jaw nearly dropped. How could he be spending money so readily in such a hard time?

The young woman approached Hannibal and reached for his glass, took it, refilled it, and brought it back to him without spilling a drop. She took his money, but he grabbed her wrist. Before Karel could even gasp and before the girl could scream, Hannibal had his knife in her jugular.

Blood splattered against the walls and table, dripping along the silver blade of the knife. Hannibal caught her body and lowered it to the ground, kneeling beside it and licking the knife carefully, his heart skipping a beat at the fresh taste of warm blood. He leaned in and began to cut delicately along her cheeks.

"Karel, keep your eyes on the husband and keep eating," he commanded, but Karel couldn't pull his eyes from the gruesome scene.

Hannibal looked up to Karel, his mouth and teeth red, drooling with fresh blood. "Do as you are told!"

Karel turned his head stiffly towards the window, but froze, his eyes still locked on Hannibal devouring the girl's face and the fleshier parts of her arms. His throat was dry, his stomach churning, his breath coming shakily. He had never actually thought that Hannibal would eat someone else!

The door opened and the husband came in, wiping his hands off on a towel. "Marie, j'ai—"

He froze, his eyes locked on Hannibal.

Hannibal looked up, blood dripping from his chin onto the dead girls pale face. He turned to glower at Karel before grabbing the knife again and jumping the man, slicing his neck open.

Hannibal turned to Karel and snarled, "I told you to keep watch on the husband!"

Karel opened his mouth and closed it, unable to say anything.

Hannibal shook his head and motioned at the man. "You will have to eat him, now. We cannot let this go to waste." When Karel didn't move, Hannibal demanded, "Well? Do you want me to eat you, too?"

Karel jumped to his feet and backed away from Hannibal. "Y-you're insane!" he shouted. He turned to run from the house but Hannibal grabbed him by the collar of his jacket. He pulled the younger boy close to him, pressing the blade of the bloody knife up against Karel's jugular.

He breathed into Karel's ear and said softly, "I am who I am. You have chosen to join me on my trip to Canada. If you leave, I will find you and kill you."

He released his grip on Karel, who stumbled into the table, his shoulders shaking, his eyes wide. He slowly turned to look at Hannibal, swallowing, his throat dry and stiff.

"Well? What will you do now, Karel?"

Karel's eyes shifted to the dead husband on the floor, the blood pooling around his limp body. "I-I can't…"

"Can't what?"

"E-eat him," replied Karel, sweat rolling down his face. "I can't eat him!"

"You caused his death," said Hannibal. "You neglected your job as watchman, and so he is dead. If you let his body rot uselessly, then you will starve. There will be little food for miles, and if we are to survive, we will need food."

Karel swallowed again, wondering what it was Hannibal was telling him—half of the words he didn't recognize, but he knew, somehow, that Hannibal was going to force him to eat the dead man.

"Here," Hannibal flipped the knife around so that the handle was facing Karel. "Slice the meat into thin strips and wrap them in her apron. I will do the same with her."

Karel took the knife with shaking hands, considering for a moment killing Hannibal. The second the older boy turned away, he lifted the knife. Hannibal, however, merely said, "If you kill me, you will be lost. The French will only be kind as long as the Germans are kept at bay."

Karel lowered his arm and looked at the dead man.

"Cut the cheeks and the arms, over the stomach, and the thighs and buttocks. Those are the tenderest places and will supply the best meat."

Karel nodded and lowered himself to his knees beside the dead man. Rolling the man's sleeve up, he began to gruesome task. Halfway through the first cheek, Karel turned away and threw up his pork and bread. He heaved again, his chest on fire, his hands shaking. He couldn't believe he was actually cutting someone up.

Hannibal merely continued to do as he had been, taking a slice into his mouth every now and again, savoring the fresh taste, knowing that it would be gone before long.

When Karel had finished nearly an hour later, Hannibal had already tied his slices in a now blood-soaked apron. Karel stood, his knees shaking violently under him, and he leaned against the table so that he wouldn't collapse.

He wiped his mouth and looked over at Hannibal, who promptly took his bag and examined it and nodded. "Good enough."

He left the house, and Karel looked down at the two dead bodies. He made the sign of the cross and gave a quick prayer, and left the house, stumbling out onto the porch and into the blinding light of the noon sun. Hannibal was already crossing the field, and Karel considered turning and running back the way they had come, but found his feet following Hannibal instead. He was drawn to the other as a fly to the shimmering web of the spider.