The Eyeball Collector Page 7

  ‘I gathered from the conversation that the creature had been captured in the nearby oak forest. At first the men thought they were trailing a Hairy-Backed Hog. It was only when they shot and injured it that they realized they had something quite different. I wanted to step forward, to offer the creature some comfort, but then Bovrik and Lady Mandible suddenly appeared.

  ‘“It could be of scientific interest,” said one huntsman.

  ‘“We should keep it alive,” said another, “and send it to the City for examination.”

  ‘“Sell it to a freak show,” suggested a third.

  ‘Lady Mandible’s expression seemed to indicate that she thought little of these suggestions. “If it was captured in the forest, then it belongs to me,” she said, “so I will decide its fate.” And something about the tone of her voice and the way Bovrik’s lips curled into a sneering smile made my skin crawl. I crept away before I was discovered.

  ‘I finished the job as fast as I could. I desired now only to leave, and a week later I collected my money and departed. As I walked away down the hill a large cart came towards me, on the back of which was a wooden crate. The cart hit a pothole, narrowly avoiding overturning, but the crate slid sharply forward and one side few open. The driver, cursing loudly, jumped down to secure the load.

  ‘“For the Hall?” I asked as I went to help.

  ‘“Aye,” he replied. “And Lady Mandible will be right furious if it is damaged.”

  ‘With what I had heard and seen of the lady I was intrigued as to the crate’s contents so I pulled away the broken side to look within. Had I known what I was to see I would never have done so.

  ‘At first glance I saw only a chair. But I realized quickly that this was no ordinary chair.

  ‘It was the curious beast fashioned into a chair.

  ‘The arms of the chair were the beast’s arms, its hands – for they were not paws – curled over the ends. The chair legs were the beast’s forelegs and its feet – complete with toes – the chair’s feet. The creature’s skin was stretched over the seat and up the back and down again on the other side. The black fur was glossy and brushed all in the same direction. And, if I was still in any doubt, it was dispelled when I saw across the taut skin the scar of the huntsman’s dagger. Hardly able to breathe from shock and revulsion, I silently thanked the Lord there was no head, for my heaving stomach could not have borne that. I learned later that it had been mounted as a trophy.

  ‘I shall never forget the way that creature looked at me as he lay dying on the floor. For although it was not the face of a human I looked upon, I swear neither was its gaze that of a beast.’

  Part the Second

  The Hairy-Backed Forest Hog

  The Hairy-Backed Forest Hog was given its name on account of the ridge of coarse black fur that runs the length of its spine. The legend goes that the Devil came up from Hell one day looking for a pig to roast. He wandered the vast oak forests that covered the land and just as night fell he came across a large hog rooting for nuts. Lacking a hunting spear the Devil threw his white-hot pitchfork at the hog in an attempt to kill it. His aim was off the mark and as the pitchfork fell a single tine grazed the hog’s back and set him on fire. The hog ran squealing to the river and immersed itself but the water was not deep enough to cover the creature fully and the hair along its back was scorched.

  When the hair grew back it was thick and black from the hog’s neck to its tail and has been ever since.

  The Hairy-Backed Forest Hog is found only in the ancient oak forest to the south-east of the Moiraean Mountains. These savage beasts mate for life and are fiercely protective of each other. The hog lives on a diet of acorns during the late summer and autumn, supplementing them in winter with the fungus ‘Stipitis longi’, an underground mushroom which it sniffs out with its specially adapted nose.

  It is noteworthy that the hog eats only the harmless head of the fungus, leaving the fatally poisonous stalk in the ground.’

  From Myths and Folklore, Flora and

  Fauna of the Ancient Oak Forest

  Various authors c.1652

  Chapter Fourteen

  Extract from

  A Letter to Polly

  Withypitts Hall

  Dear Polly,

  As I walk daily the maze-like corridors of Withypitts Hall, the smell of money is overpowering. The excess in which I now live, far greater than any I experienced in Urbs Umida, has to be seen to be believed.

  I have always felt guilty that I left Fitch’s without saying goodbye to you or any of the others. But my urgency was spurred on by anger. I don’t know if you will ever read these letters. I address them to you, but in many ways I write them for myself. It helps to see it in black and white in front of me. It is my record, so when I look back on all of this I will know what I really felt and what drove me.

  Father advised against revenge before he died. I know you would too, if you could. That is what you were counselling, that night in the kitchen. But I cannot agree. Baron Bovrik de Vandolin, under whatever guise or name, is a monster. Perhaps he did not deliver the fatal blow to my father, but I will always hold him responsible for his death. They hang at Gallows Corner for lesser crimes than his.

  But enough! There is so much more to tell.

  It was late by the time the carriage was fixed, so Solomon decided we would stay the night in Pagus Parvus, setting off again early the next day.

  The old woman, Perigoe was her name, gave me another wink. ‘If you will go to Withypitts,’ she said, ‘then I ask a favour. I am a bookseller, you see, and I have an order of books for Lady Mandible. Young Sourdough, my delivery boy, refuses to set foot there again since he heard Oscar’s story.’

  I consented readily and in return she offered me a room for the night.

  For all my bravado and resolve I admit that I was unsettled by Oscar’s tale and happy to delay our departure. I followed her out on to the street. Her bookshop was not far and I was glad to get out of the cold. But as I shut the door behind me I thought I saw a movement from across the street. Was someone watching?

  ‘What is it?’ Perigoe asked.

  I looked again but there was nothing. ‘Only a shadow,’ I said, but I wasn’t at all sure.

  Perigoe’s hospitality was first rate and I would have spent a very comfortable night in her attic room if my dreams hadn’t been plagued with images of the beast.

  Luck was against me. All next day we suffered a terrible storm. Solomon sent word from the Pickled Trout (where he had spent the night) that we would set off when it eased. The howling wind and lashing rain battered the village until late afternoon. It was frustrating but Perigoe looked after me. And I took the opportunity to browse her bookshop. I saw on the shelves many books from my own library – no doubt all disposed of by now thanks to Badlesmire and his rawboned partner – which saddened me. But my heart lifted to see a slim volume of poetry by Beag Hickory. Another book too caught my eye: ‘Myths and Folklore, Flora and Fauna of the Ancient Oak Forest’. I bought it though Perigoe kindly charged me a reduced price. I had a feeling it might be useful.

  By early evening the storm had abated and Solomon arrived with the repaired carriage. He was anxious to go, not so much to reach my destination as to be able to return to the City. Perigoe gave me a warm hug and handed over a parcel of books wrapped in oilcloth and tied with string for Lady Mandible. (She told me the lady orders some odd titles.) As a parting gift she gave me the copy of Beag Hickory’s poetry. Her kindness made me forget my inner darkness for a moment, at least.

  ‘Look out for yourself,’ warned Perigoe. ‘Lady Mandible is not one to be crossed. She has a silver smile, they say, but a hand of steel in a velvet glove.’

  I didn’t care about Lady Mandible, though, only Baron Bovrik. I climbed into the carriage and Solomon opened the hatch to look down at me with bleary bloodshot eyes. ‘Are you sure you want to go on?’ he asked gruffly. ‘I can always take you back to the City.’

  I thought o
f Father buried in a shallow pauper’s grave.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m sure.’

  Solomon had assured me that we would reach Withypitts Hall in a matter of hours. To pass the time, and to keep my mind off darker thoughts, I took ‘Myths and Folklore’ from my bag and laid it on my lap. I had often heard about the legendary Hairy-Backed Forest Hog and wished to know more. I discovered that the hog has a particularly interesting diet, which fact I noted in view of my vengeful intent. Indeed I grew quite excited to think how my plan was starting to take shape. At that moment, however, a tremendous clap of thunder interrupted my reading and the ground shook with the ferocity of the clashing heavens. So involved was I in my book and plotting I had failed to notice the returning storm. Searing bolts of lightning lit up the sky. The repairs, and the courage of the horses, were tested to their limits as with every gust of wind the carriage rocked violently on its springs. I had to brace myself not to be flung through the door.

  I dared to look out only once, to see that we were climbing, merely feet away from the edge of a precipitous drop. In the brief moments between the thunder and lightning I could hear Solomon swearing at the horses and the sound of his whip. I huddled on the seat with my cloak wrapped around me and began to pray fervently for safe delivery to Withypitts Hall. Just when I thought that fear had brought me as close to death as it was possible to be while still breathing, the carriage came to an unsteady halt.

  Solomon’s face appeared at the hatch in the roof. He was red-cheeked and wet. ‘I can go no further,’ he shouted above the wind. ‘You’ll have to continue on foot.’

  I pulled my hat down so hard on my head that it pinched my ears. With the parcel of books under one arm and my bag over my shoulder I opened the door, fighting to hold it in the wind, and jumped down to sink ankle deep in freezing soupy mud. I could feel the chill water seeping through the seams of my boots. Grimacing and cursing I made my way to firmer ground and looked ahead.

  At first I saw nothing. The moon was behind the swollen clouds and the sheeting rain made everything blurry. But then pitchforked lightning split the inky sky and my heart faltered. In its white light my disbelieving eyes saw a vast jagged silhouette stretching across a broad mountainous outcrop like a diabolical gathering of crouching devils. Their horns were the towers and the lights burning in the windows their evil red eyes.

  ‘Tartri flammis!’ I breathed, and could say not another word. This behemoth before me was Withypitts Hall.

  ‘This is madness!’ shouted Solomon. ‘Come back with me. It’s not too late.’

  I tried to answer but my words were blown back in my face so I just shook my head. Solomon shrugged in helpless disbelief. He clapped me on the shoulder, wished me luck and hauled himself back on to his seat. I stared again at the looming Hall and when I looked back the carriage had already turned and was gathering speed down the hill. Now my only choice was to go on.

  I pushed on up the road, tripping and sliding and skidding, and within minutes I was soaked through. I must have battled against the storm for nigh on half an hour before finally reaching the huge iron gates that flanked the broad gravelled carriageway up to the main doors. Intermittent lightning flashes allowed me to see for only seconds at a time the full extent of the building: the six tall towers that reached up to the black clouds, the tall, narrow leaded windows, atop the arched pinnacles of which sat grinning devils and the roof edge supported by gargoyles of the most repulsive nature.

  Close now to exhaustion I staggered up the steps. In the centre of the oaken door was a huge brass knocker in the shape of a hog’s head. It took all my remaining strength to lift it with both hands and bring it down upon the ancient wood. The impact resounded within and was immediately answered by a cacophony of howling dogs. Then as I waited I thought I heard a different sound, neither animal nor human but the strains of a tune, a high-pitched and mournful air that was soon swallowed by the wind.

  With a ghastly groaning the door finally opened. A skeletal man towered over me and took in my bedraggled state with dull, unforgiving eyes. His etiolated pallor was like a plant that had never seen the sun.

  ‘Yes?’ he said. He elongated the single syllable in a low monotone.

  ‘I have a delivery,’ I croaked. ‘For Lady Mandible.’

  ‘What is it, Gerulphus?’ enquired a second, higher pitched voice. A lady came up behind him, in a voluminous skirt, with the darkest hair you have ever seen and wide shining eyes of violet hue and full blood-red lips.

  ‘It’s a boy, Your Ladyship,’ replied Gerulphus slowly. ‘Just a boy.’

  I tried to speak but again, from somewhere within the Hall, I heard the music. It rose to a merciless crescendo, filling my ears and ringing in my head until I could hardly think.

  And that is the last thing I remember. Exhaustion overcame me and in an instant everything went dark and I fell an indeterminate distance to the ground.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Arrival

  After his collapse on the steps of Withypitts Hall, Hector awoke in a far better place. He came to on a couch of the softest velvet in a chamber of flickering lights. From the domed ceiling above him hung a many-tiered chandelier with a hundred or more glittering candles.

  Slowly he looked around and was so taken with the gilded furniture, the oriental patterned cocked wallpaper, the sumptuous dark curtains, the black marble fireplace in which roared a gloriously red and orange fire, that it was some moments before he became aware of the other people in the room.

  ‘He is awake, My Lady,’ said the unmistakable voice of Gerulphus. He was standing directly behind the couch.

  Hector’s bemused gaze met the curious stare of the lady with the sanguine-hued lips. She was sitting opposite on a cream silken chaise longue and cooling herself languorously with a peacock-feather fan. Closing the fan with a snap she beckoned him over.

  ‘Come closer,’ she said. Her voice was soft yet commanding. If it was a colour, Hector thought, it would be deep brown. ‘Have a seat.’ There was a small stool beside her chaise longue and in front of it a low table set with a platter of colourful sweets. Beside that stood a tall silver spouted pot, a delicately patterned cup with matching sugar bowl, and a crystal glass and jug filled to the brim with sparkling amber liquid. Hector stood up and his feet sank into the thick grey wolfskin rug (complete with head, fangs and yellow eyes) that lay between the two couches.

  He sat carefully on the edge of the stool, acutely aware of the state of his clothes. He was also aware of how ravenously hungry he was and couldn’t help but stare longingly at the dainty aromatic treats that teased his nose. They smelled of marzipan and dark chocolate and were decorated with bright red cherries and raisins and iced in swirls.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’

  ‘You are Lady Mandible,’ said Hector slowly, ‘and this is Withypitts Hall.’

  ‘And what is your name?’

  ‘Hector. The Baron sent a carriage for me.’

  ‘Ah, the butterfly boy,’ rejoined Lady Mandible. ‘I thought as much. You are very welcome.’ She looked at him closely. ‘Are you hungry?’

  Hector had always been told it was not polite to openly admit to hunger, but after his sojourn in Fitch’s Home his manners were not as they once were. Hardly able to take his eyes off the platter, he nodded vigorously.

  ‘Then take one.’

  She pointed to the sweets and he noticed for the first time that her painted nails were neither rounded nor squared off, but sharpened almost to talons. She wore a large ring on every finger, each with a gleaming oversized dark stone.

  ‘Take as many as you like. I have them brought in specially. No one around here has the skills to make such delicate treats.’ She laughed, rather cruelly. ‘And very few people deserve them.’

  Hector needed no more encouragement. He dropped a sweet into his mouth and was caught by surprise at the intensity of the taste, the sensation of the chocolate slowly melting, its sweetness running down the back of his thro
at. Before he could help himself he had eaten another and taken two more. He was ready to cram them in as well but a sudden shiver ran down his spine and he managed to stop himself. Lady Mandible’s unblinking eyes were fixed upon him, her head slightly cocked, and she was opening and closing her fan.

  Gerulphus approached noiselessly, as seemed to be his way. He was like a creature that had once been alive, Hector thought, then had died and been brought back from the grave. He filled for Hector a glass from the jug of sweet ginger beer. Then he lifted and tipped the silver pot. A stream of dark liquid ran from its spout into the patterned cup. Hector looked at the manservant’s bony wrists protruding from his cuffs and could see pulsing blue veins running up the back of his hands. The bittersweet aroma of the liquid was very familiar to Hector. One of the most expensive coffees you could buy, his father used to serve it when entertaining important wine merchants. This, mingled with the taste and smell of the treats, the ginger beer and the heady perfume that wafted from his hostess, combined to make him feel a little light-headed.

  Lady Mandible looked at him quizzically and reached across to take a marzipan delicacy for herself at the same time as Hector. Her fingers brushed over his hand and he flinched. Her nails were sharp as blades and her skin abnormally cool.

  ‘I believe you brought something for me too,’ she said.

  Gerulphus handed her Perigoe’s parcel and a knife and she cut the string with a slashing motion then placed the package on the table and flattened down the oilskin to reveal a pile of books. She lifted the top one, a large brown-covered volume, and it fell open to show a full-page colour plate of a butterfly. Hector’s heart ached at the sight of the beautiful creature. It was a painful reminder of his previous life but also of his purpose. If he really wanted revenge on the Baron, he had to win this job.