The Eyeball Collector Page 15

  ‘What do you want?’ growled Bovrik. He was pale and the left side of his face was slightly red and swollen. From Lady Mandible’s slap, thought Hector.

  ‘The box,’ he said urgently, dragging himself up to standing. ‘Have you opened it?’

  Bovrik glanced to his left and Hector saw the small white box still on the chair where he had left it earlier. Bovrik went immediately to pick it up.

  ‘No,’ cried Hector. ‘Don’t open it!’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Bovrik. ‘It is mine, a gift from Lysandra.’ He held out the card, clearly addressed to Baron Bovrik de Vandolin and signed with a swirling L.

  Hector took a step forward. ‘It’s not from Lysandra. It’s from me. And now I want it back.’

  ‘From you?’ Bovrik put his ear to the box. ‘There’s something in here,’ he said. ‘I can hear it.’ He looked expectantly at Hector.

  ‘It’s full of butterflies, Pulvis funestus, Blackwing, but you mustn’t open it. They will kill you.’ He held out his hands pleadingly.

  ‘Kill me?’ Bovrik narrowed his eyes and laughed sarcastically. ‘Are they trained to attack?’

  Hector shook his head. ‘I sprinkled their wings with the poison of a deadly mushroom. If you touch them, you will die. Your lemon scent will drive them wild and draw them straight to you!’

  Bovrik smiled slightly. ‘My, my! Fery inventive. And hard to detect after, I imagine.’ To Hector’s relief, he put the box down on the table. ‘But why would you send me such a fatal gift?’

  Hector’s hands hung down at his sides in despair. He had dreamed of this moment so many times, but this wasn’t how it was supposed to be, this wasn’t how he was supposed to feel. ‘Because,’ he said heavily, ‘you are Gulliver Truepin and I am Hector Fitzbaudly. You blackmailed my father, and by your actions you killed him.’

  ‘Hah!’ exclaimed Bovrik. ‘You seek revenge?’ Now he understood and finally let his accent slip. ‘Commendable in one so young. You have a bright future. But then why warn me?’

  Why? thought Hector. Because my father believed in me. Because I am not like you. Because I am better than that.

  ‘Because I am not a wolf,’ he said quietly. Bovrik frowned. ‘I changed my mind,’ he said louder. ‘You’re finished here at Withypitts Hall. You murdered Lord Mandible and were caught. The guards are probably on their way already. That’s revenge enough for me.’

  ‘That is not true. It’s all been a mistake,’ said Bovrik to Hector’s surprise, massaging his puffy cheek. It was quite red by now and the eye was closing. ‘I did not kill Mandible, but you’re right to say I am finished at Withypitts Hall. I should never have stayed so long. It was misjudgement on my part. Now out of my way, boy, or you’ll go the same way as your father.’

  ‘Wait,’ Hector said. ‘I saw you, creeping about the corridors at night, in and out of Mandible’s rooms. I don’t know how you did it, but who else has as good a reason as you to want him dead? You said as much tonight, to Lady Mandible.’

  ‘My, you have been keeping an eye on me!’ Bovrik raised his eyebrows. ‘But you’ve got it wrong, butterfly boy. The only time I entered Lord Mandible’s chambers was to steal his stupid cat for the cat-eater! The rest of the time you saw me, well, let’s just say, helping myself to extraneous treasures, to sell. It’s in my nature. We all have to make a living. I’m not saying I didn’t wish that fool Mandible out of the picture, but my plans in that respect weren’t quite as advanced as yours for me!’

  Hector was horrified. Here he was thinking that he was better than Bovrik, whereas in fact he was worse. How could he have let himself sink so low?

  ‘But you said you had a surprise for Lady Mandible,’ he stuttered.

  ‘Yes, my new eyeball,’ said Bovrik impatiently, and he thrust his face towards Hector so he could see it up close. ‘Lysandra appreciates beauty. I just wanted to show her that I did too. We could have achieved so much,’ he said dreamily, ‘but it’s all gone wrong.’ He rubbed at his eye again, more vigorously. ‘This is not such a good fit after all,’ he murmured and flipped open the lid of his eyeball box. There they sat, like six silent witnesses.

  ‘How odd,’ he said. ‘They are mixed up.’ He looked up once more at Hector and started. ‘What in the name of Hades is that?’

  Hector glanced down at his waistcoat and saw too the furry tail emerging from below it. ‘It’s Percy,’ he remembered. ‘I found him dead under the harpsichord.’ He pulled out the stiffening creature and at the same time something heavy and glittering fell out of his pocket on to the bearskin rug where it gleamed in the fur. He stooped to pick it up.

  ‘At least Mandible went out on a high note,’ continued Bovrik. ‘His father couldn’t play for toffee either. He died alone at his instrument.’

  Hector frowned as he straightened. ‘He died at the harpsichord?’

  ‘Yes. Didn’t you know? Not long after Lysandra married Mandible.’ Bovrik looked at Hector, who was examining closely the small item that had fallen from his pocket. It was the dark-stoned ring that he found when last collecting the hog-bristle. Suddenly his blood ran cold. ‘Tartri flammis!’ he breathed. ‘It’s Lady Mandible’s.’ He turned to Bovrik, wild-eyed. ‘I had it all wrong. Don’t you see? It’s Lady Mandible. She’s the only other person with something to gain if Lord Mandible is dead. She killed Mandible’s father. And she killed Mandible too. But it is you who are to take the blame.’

  Bovrik’s face contorted in agonized disbelief. ‘No,’ he wailed. ‘It cannot be possible. I, the greatest trickster of them all, have been outdone.’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  View from the Top

  As he fell he smiled.

  So this was what it was like to fly! He could feel the winter air cooling his burning cheeks and it was surprisingly pleasant. He had the sensation that he might be swooping. His eyes were closed and he felt as if his arms were outstretched. It was true, then, what he had heard. Your life did flash before you. It was all there, in no particular order – a cornucopia of little pictures, each a reminder of a thousand different things.

  Now he was in the forest again. The leaves were brown and damp and he could smell the rot. He heard the rooting of a hog and immediately the acrid aroma of singed flesh and hair made his nose sting. That man, the traveller, he was there too but then he was gone, replaced by Hector’s inquisitive face.

  ‘Good luck to you,’ he thought, opening his fingers wide to allow the wind to rush through.

  He turned, slowly he felt, in the air and continued to fall. He wondered why it was taking so long. As he passed down the side of the tower he could see the smallest of things in minute detail, which was strange because it was late evening and only the distant stars and the full moon lit the sky. And he knew in reality he must be falling at speed, yet he was able to look at each thing slowly and take it in:the moss between the bricks, an insect crawling across the rough stone, a green rivulet where the rain followed a crooked path down the wall.

  He was confused by a mixture of emotions: sadness, regret, anger, frustration. Had there not been a single moment of happiness? he wondered. And then she appeared. She was smiling, holding out her hand as she had done a hundred times or more. He pursed his lips as if to kiss it but she drew back and her eyes became cold.

  ‘What a fool I was,’ he thought. ‘What a foo—’

  He landed and lay crookedly on his side in a spreading pool of dark red blood. And the last thing Bovrik saw was his own reflection in the shining orb that rolled away from him.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Departure

  ‘Quick! Lord Mandible has been murdered, the killer is on the run and Lady Mandible’s life is in danger from a rampaging hog! You must go immediately to the great dining room!’

  The guard at the top of the tower gaped at Hector for a moment before gathering his weapons and clattering down the tower stairs as fast as he was able.

  Working rapidly, Hector unlocked the heavy cell door with the key he
had taken from the Baron’s room. The prisoner was already waiting on the other side. ‘I knew you wouldn’t forget me.’ He grinned.

  ‘How could I leave you here?’ asked Hector. ‘I owe you my life! Besides, I have some questions for you. But later. Let’s go.’

  Below, the corridors were deserted. As they approached the main doors both Hector and his companion could hear the roars and grunts still emanating from the dining hall. The hog had been locked in and the huntsmen were busy debating how best to capture the beast. News had spread quickly of Bovrik’s fall, and those who had escaped the hog uninjured now rushed outside to look at his broken body. As a result the feeing pair escaped Withypitts without hindrance to head for the stables.

  At the edge of the forest Hector pulled up his horse and looked at his companion.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked at last. ‘And why have you been following me?’

  ‘My name,’ the young man replied, ‘is Ludlow Fitch.’

  Hector’s mouth fell open. ‘Lottie Fitch’s son?’

  Ludlow nodded. ‘And Polly’s friend. She was very concerned for your safety so I promised to follow you, to help you if I could. But I cannot deny I had my own reason for doing so. You know little of my business, Hector, but I thought perhaps you could become my apprentice.’

  Hector shook his head ashamedly. ‘You don’t want me,’ he mumbled. ‘Or at least you wouldn’t if you knew what terrible thing I came close to doing.’ He wheeled his horse about to see again the ominous silhouette of Withypitts Hall. ‘I can hardly bear to think on it. In that place . . . I was not myself.’ And he swallowed a huge sob and hunched further into his horse’s saddle.

  Ludlow put a hand on his arm. ‘A friend of mine used to say, “You cannot change the past, but every moment is an opportunity to change your future.”’

  Hector wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘He sounds like a good friend.’

  ‘He was like a father to me.’

  ‘I had a father. What I did, I did for him. But he would not be proud of me, of what I nearly became.’

  ‘One day you will tell me what you did,’ said Ludlow softly. ‘And I’ll guard your secret. But for now we should keep moving.’

  Hector felt his temple gingerly. His musket wound was stinging in the cold air. ‘I was to go back to the City,’ he said.

  ‘Come with me,’ urged Ludlow. ‘I know a place in the mountains where we can be safe, the Atrium Arcanorum.’

  ‘A Hall of Secrets,’ said Hector in surprise.

  ‘Yes.’ Ludlow nodded. ‘A wondrous place. You have never seen its like. I have a friend there: Juno. She can heal your wound; she is a marvel with herbs. But perhaps you wish to part company. After all, your debt is paid.’

  Hector shook his head. ‘Not quite. What about the Landlord’s Pickle?’

  Ludlow laughed. ‘Tell me on the way,’ he said, and trotted off.

  Hector took one last look at Withypitts Hall then spurred his horse forward. ‘What sort of apprentice?’ he called to Ludlow. Ludlow looked back over his shoulder.

  ‘That’s a whole other story,’ he said.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  A Letter to Polly

  Hall of Secrets

  Dear Polly,

  I have one more story to tell, perhaps the worst of all. We already know the fate of Posset, eaten by a Frenchman, but what of her companion? Poor Percy, he died simply because he walked across the harpsichord keys. Lady Mandible poisoned them (or maybe Gerulphus did it for her) with the same mushroom poison I collected in the forest. Little did Perigoe know how useful ‘Myths and Folklore, Flora and Fauna of the Ancient Oak Forest’ would be!

  Lady Mandible knew that her husband was to play at the Feast. What a perfect setting for her fatal drama. He absorbed the poison through his fingers and then through his mouth when he was stuffing himself at the Feast. I suspect that is how she killed Mandible’s father too. And what of her previous husbands? The thought is almost too much to bear! As for her reason: money and power, I reckon. But also, terrible though it is to contemplate, maybe even for her own pleasure.

  I told Bovrik as soon as I realized. Having warned him of the toxic butterflies, suddenly I wanted to do everything in my power to save him. I suppose, having come to my senses, I wanted to make up for the fact that I had planned such a dreadful revenge.

  In the moments after I told him Bovrik seemed very thoughtful, gazing back down at his precious eyeballs. Then he picked up the box of butterflies.

  I held out my hand, thinking he was going to give it to me, but before I could stop him, with a cry of anguish, he ripped it open. Instantly a thick cloud of black-winged butterflies flew forth and swarmed around his head, creating a shadowy, dusty, fluttering fog.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I screeched. But it was too late. I didn’t dare go near him for fear of the poison. Bovrik slapped wildly at the agitated butterflies, crushing them against his face and neck until his hands were dripping with glutinous guts and then, when I thought it could get no worse, he smeared the toxic slime across his mouth.

  ‘Tartri flammis!’ I cried, and stepped back. ‘You are a lunatic.’

  Bovrik turned to me, his face a grotesque mask of insect innards. ‘How long will it take,’ he said, ‘before I die?’

  ‘A short while,’ I whispered, ‘and it will be painful.’

  ‘She has done me in anyway,’ he said cryptically. ‘I thought this might be quicker.’ There was a strange look in his eyes, almost of triumph. ‘No man, or woman, decides my fate,’ he said firmly. Then, before I could stop him, he ran across the room and jumped through the window.

  I realize now I have not been myself for some time, even before I came to Withypitts Hall. My father, you and Ludlow were right all along. Revenge is not the answer. If I had followed its soul-destroying path to the end, I would have been nothing less than a coldblooded murderer. That was not what my father had in mind for me. By pretending I was someone I was not, I was no better than Truepin (whatever his real identity was. I wonder if he even knew any more). So blinded was I by my all-consuming anger that I failed to see it was not the Baron I should fear; the riddle was not what he was up to, but what evil plans were being laid by Lady Mandible.

  But that is enough of this story. I think finally I can lay down my quill. I am in a different place now, with new friends, and the future, though uncertain, looks bright. And soon, dear Polly, I will be on my way back to you.

  Salve,

  Your friend,

  Hector

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Article from

  The Northside Diurnal Journal

  A quality daily newspaper for the discerning reader

  Strange Happenings at Withypitts Hall

  By

  Tarquin Faulkner

  The Midwinter Feast has proved to be an unfortunate and rather gruesome occasion for Withypitts Hall this year. A week on and still it is the talk of the town. Not only did Lord Mandible collapse and die at the harpsichord (after an apparently brilliant performance on said instrument), but Baron Bovrik de Vandolin was also found dead at the foot of his tower. It is believed he took his own life to evade trial, having been accused of the murder of Lord Mandible.

  And that is not the end of it. The very same evening a Hairy-Back she-hog went on the rampage at the Hall, killing many revellers and wounding others. Most likely she was seeking revenge for the death (and consumption) of her mate. Witnesses report that Lady Mandible was one of the first to die at the pig’s tusks, but to date her body has not been recovered. Others claim that her personal manservant threw himself heroically between her and the hog and saved her life. Whatever the case, neither one has been seen since. Rumour has it that somehow the two of them escaped and have fed the country. A reliable source of mine, recently returned from abroad, swears blind he saw her at the court of a European prince, but unfortunately he has no proof.

  And one last puzzle remains: the six dead servants found in various parts of W
ithypitts in the early hours after the ill-fated Feast. There is no evidence that the hog killed them, but each held in his hand one of the Baron’s famous bejewelled eyes, purloined, no doubt, after his death . . .

  A Note from F. E. Higgins

  I too was puzzled by the dead servants and I wished that I had Hector at hand to help solve the riddle! In his absence I went back through all my papers and documents and eventually I pieced together what I think happened.

  Hector admitted to spreading the wings of the black butterflies with poison from the forest mushroom Stipitis longi. This is what he was crushing in his pestle and mortar and why he was wearing gloves.

  Stipitis longi is closely related to the Amanita family of mushrooms, containing some of the deadliest fungi in the world. When Lysandra’s ring was dislodged from Hector’s pocket (the ring he picked up in the forest), he realized that she too must have been collecting the mushrooms.

  She spread the poison on the harpsichord keys to kill Mandible. Percy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But what Hector didn’t know was that she had also smeared it on Bovrik’s golden eye, the eye he made such a fuss about wearing at the Feast. In fact she left nothing to chance, and tainted all of his eyeballs. That is why they were out of order in the box. Hence the death of the servants too. What a high price all paid for pilfering! But, as we know, Lady Mandible lived by her own rules. And by killing the Baron she also ensured he could not defend himself against her accusations of murder.

  When Hector told the Baron his suspicions about the harpsichord, Bovrik realized immediately who had disturbed his eyeballs. And of course his new eye, the seventh, was already irritating him. Knowing he was going to die anyway, Bovrik chose to release the poisoned butterflies, hoping to speed up the process. I imagine he thought eating the poison would move things along more quickly than the gradual absorption his tainted eye promised. I cannot help but think, though, that to be tricked by Lady Mandible must have been too much to bear for the swindler Truepin. Ultimately, faced with such a painful death, he wished to be the master of his own destiny and he jumped.