Read the Fine Print

Dear Reader,

Now that I am far from Amsterdam, I am writing about my experience to protect you. If you feel queasy, do not read, but be warned: Stay Away From Frans.

* * *

Someone stole Cadavers from the Ruysch School of Curiosities’ Anatomical Theatre. The news hit me like a punch in the gut when I returned to Amsterdam in August of 1732 after a short holiday. How could this happen? Who would do such a thing, and why?

Initially, the school administrator welcomed publicity concerning the theft but quashed rumors after receiving a hefty endowment. I realized they knew something they weren’t telling us when the cadavers reappeared — headless.

Focusing on my work, I ignored the goosebumps invading my body. I was a lab assistant in the botany department, preparing potions for experiments. I needed more time to focus on my own experiments, but this job paid the bills while I studied the application of elixirs and solutions.

I was in the middle of mixing chemicals when Frans strolled in wearing a dirt-stained lab coat. He was a senior researcher and botanist, working on some obscure plant project. He had a reputation for being eccentric and secretive, but I respected him. He’d found various ways to use plants to ease pain without killing anyone, which I appreciated when I broke my ankle last year.

“Adriaen,” he said to me. “I’ve reviewed your profile. I’m anxious to find someone to work with me, a kind of apprenticeship to assist with my labyrinth garden projects.”

Stunned and honored that he’d consider me as an apprentice, I looked at him anxiously. “I’d love to be your apprentice.” However, needing lucrative employment, I had to ask, “Is it a position that compensates? I’m working my way through school.”

He seemed surprised by my question. “Do you understand you’d work under confidentiality and restrictions as indicated in a contract you must sign? It’s a six-month commitment, but the apprenticeship offers generous compensation.”

I stared wide-eyed. “I have no problem keeping secrets.”

“You won’t regret it.” He headed toward the door, stopped, and turned toward me. “Shall we go?”

I didn’t move. Did he expect me to abandon my current employment without notice? “After I finish my shift here,” I said.

He smiled. “Of course. I respect your loyalty.”

After he left, I was distracted by Frans’s assumption that I would abandon my job during a shift or that he expected me to.

* * *

I headed to Frans’s property on Amsterdam’s outskirts in the early afternoon.

I’d heard rumors about his labyrinth. Some said it was a peaceful place full of exotic flowers; others said it was twisted and dark without explanation. I assumed it was confidential.

Frans greeted me at the ivy-covered brick entrance and invited me into his office. A rectangular wooden table cluttered with scalpels, microscopes, and flora piqued my interest.

The bookshelves were overloaded with botanical information from different countries and regions, and medical journals were piled high on the floor.

Curious about the jars of seeds, oils, and preserved plant specimens, I tried to open the glass cabinet, but the door was locked.

Frans stood back, arms folded, and laughed. “In due time, my friend.”

Amazed by the numerous notes and drawings scattered across his desk, I must have looked like a fool with my mouth agape.

Frans tapped me on the back and handed me a contract. "Please have a seat and sign if you agree with the terms."

I looked it over, signed it, and returned it to him.

He raised his eyebrows. “Wait until you see the gardens!”

We stepped out the door into Frans’s world of yellow sunflowers and rusty red marigolds growing along the twisted path to the labyrinth.

A masterpiece labyrinth with winding brick paths bordered by high, dense hedges divided the sections.

The Garden of Humor nursed exotic plants - orchid variations, some resembling jumping monkeys, screeching and chattering. I laughed until I reached the Garden of Love.

Pure white clematis graced the love garden. Entwined vines, modified, wrapped me in soft, green leaves. Intoxicated by the scent, I became one with the garden and wished to stay forever intertwined in peace.

In the final section, the Garden of Hope, Frans’s flowers glowed baby blue and burst with melodies and lullabies I recognized from childhood. I inhaled the scent of a long-ago home.

* * *

Frans conducted his experiments in the greenhouse at the labyrinth’s center. “Go ahead in,” Frans said. “I’ve got to get plant food from the icebox.”

As I entered, a drifting, rancid odor made me gag.

I stopped dead. A wooden plaque said House of Monsters, and a deep feeling of dread shook me.

I tried to get out, but the door was jammed or locked. I pounded, kicked, and yelled, “Frans!”

The atmosphere was hot and dark, and I sunk to the floor, sweating.

Confused, I sat near the exit until I heard a faint, raspy voice. "Help me. Please help me."

My eyes adjusted to the darkness. Wiping sweat from my forehead, I moved toward the voice.

Smokey purple Cabbages were planted everywhere, and as I stumbled through the patch, I tripped over a greyish human head. Recoiling in horror, I saw another head nestled near a cabbage.

Backing away, I collided with Frans.

“Welcome to my garden,” he said. “Sorry about the door. The damn thing locks automatically.”

My breathing came in short bursts as I transfixed on the heads.

“How about some help?” Frans said, holding a tray of feeding bottles.

I ran for the exit.

“It’s locked,” he yelled.

I swung around and glared at him.

He was shaking his head. “The contract,” he said. “Did you read the fine print?”