The Lunatic's Curse Read online

  Rudy Idolice was a man who was always on the verge of something. Unfortunately, on account of his love of whisky, it was never obvious exactly what that something might be.

  I am as dilapidated as my wagon, he thought.

  He brought a bottle to his lips and felt at the back of his throat the burning consolation. But even that feeling was only half what it used to be. ‘Where did it all go wrong?’ he asked himself, and as is often the case the answer was staring him right in the face. On the floor there was a crumpled flyer stating boldly:

  Perhaps things’ll be better in the next town, he thought, as he did almost every evening at this time. ‘Opum Oppidulum,’ he said out loud, and he felt a small surge of hope rise in his stomach. ‘We’ll set off tomorrow at sunrise.’

  Now he had a plan he felt better and went to lie on the narrow shelf that acted as a bed and began to snore. He missed, as a result, Hildred’s face at the window. And by choosing to snooze Rudy inadvertently set his life on a very different path. Such is the nature of Lady Luck, ever fickle, always unpredictable.

  Hildred dropped lightly to the ground and ran in an odd, loose-legged fashion across to another wagon, similar in size to Rudy’s and in no better condition. She took the steps in one bound and opened the door to enter the dim and cramped interior, where every available inch of standing room or sitting surface was taken by the crew of travelling performers before her. Undeterred, she squeezed herself into a narrow space on top of a cupboard. If you hadn’t seen her there you would have thought it impossible for a person to fit.

  ‘Well?’ asked a deep voice.

  ‘Guess what he’s up to,’ said Hildred.

  ‘Asleep,’ rejoined a chorus of voices.

  At the other end of the wagon sat the stout owner of the deep voice, sporting a rather thick, luxurious beard through which she ran her fingers, picking out crumbs and occasionally larger morsels of food. When she thought no one was looking she popped them quickly into her mouth. Barbata, the Bearded Beauty – for she was a lady – let nothing go to waste.

  Beside her, eyeing the veritable cornucopia of a beard, half sat, half stood Stanley. He always found it difficult to get comfortable owing to his third leg (a fully functioning appendage). As part of his act he tap-danced with two legs while resting on the third. ‘If there was money to be made from snoring Rudy could have retired years ago,’ he commented wryly.

  ‘We could all have retired,’ said someone else soberly. ‘That is exactly the problem. We will be working into our graves while Rudy slumbers on his cot.’

  This particular speaker sat near the door. He stood out from the rest of the occupants of the wagon on account of the fact that he appeared to have no physical attributes that might cause a person stop and stare. He was tall, broad-shouldered and muscular. His hair, cut in a classical Roman style, was short and curly, like a shorn sheep, and he sported a soft blonde beard cut close to the chin. Hildred smiled. You could always rely on Mr Ephcott, the only surviving ‘centaur’ in the world (obviously he was not in his costume right now, which consisted simply of the back end of a horse), to get to the point.

  Of all the players in Rudy’s show, Mr Ephcott was the most educated. Knowledgeable and well-spoken, he had an ardent fan-base of wealthy ladies. He could talk to them on exactly their level. In fact he could talk several levels above them but his real charm, apart from his deliciously hairy chest, was to make them appear clever. The ladies’ husbands were not quite so enamoured of him. It seemed a little odd to them that their wives would pay money to address a bare-chested fellow, but of course, as the ladies insisted loudly, ‘He is not a fellow, he is a horse!’ And that seemed to settle the matter.

  ‘Friends,’ said Mr Ephcott grimly, ‘we are here to make a decision. Are we staying with Rudy, to watch the show fall apart and to see what little money we take drunk away? Or are we to cut loose and make our own way in life? There are other travelling shows out there we could join. We’re professionals, after all. It’s Rudy has let us down. What do you say?’

  ‘Very well,’ said another man in the centre of the caravan (he had two heads). ‘Both Bob and I agree that Mr Ephcott here is right.’ This pronouncement was a great surprise to the listeners: each head had a completely different personality and rarely agreed on any matter. ‘We say the time has come to act. Let’s go to Rudy, demand what we’re owed and leave.’

  Hildred smiled wryly and looked around the wagon. Here were all her friends, the people who had looked after her for as long as she could remember. Barbata had always been very kind to her, even when she had pulled her beard. And then there was Matilda, the lady who could bite her own elbow (right now she was sitting quite happily on her hands) – she had treated her as her own. And across from her sat Billy and Rosalyn Dunnet (pronounced ‘Doonay’: they claimed French ancestry), watching with pride their quadruplets – Lucy, Rebecca, Aina and Tobias – practising outside in the twilight for the next show. Billed as ‘The Most Daring Quartet of Quirt Wielders and Whip Crackers’ (a quirt, of course, being a whip with a leather thong at one end), what those four could do with whips and quirts would make your eyes water!

  Hildred knew she would miss them all, but none more so than Mr Ephcott. This gentle and charming man had taken her under his wing when her father absconded after her mother’s fatal accident. He had taught her, with great patience, not only to read and to write but also a thousand other things that he said would one day be useful when she had to go out into the real world.

  And now that time had come. Rudy had been given chance after chance but this was the end of the line. The proposal was put to the vote and in Rudy’s absence it was unanimously decided that the travelling show was to disband.

  ‘I suppose we won’t be going to Opum Oppidulum now,’ said Hildred ruefully as she and Mr Ephcott watched the downcast group disperse to their wagons.

  ‘Don’t worry, Hildred,’ he said gently. ‘You will survive. You are talented and smart. You can leave without any guilt at all. Why not come with me to Urbs Umida? I believe it’s the sort of place that would greatly enjoy acts such as yours and mine. This is not the end for you, but the beginning.’

  Hildred smiled wryly. ‘I know, but I cannot help feeling sorry for Rudy. In his own way he has been good to me all these years.’

  Mr Ephcott looked her straight in the eye. ‘Hildred, you owe Rudy nothing,’ he said solemnly. ‘You have worked for years in the show, and paid your way.’

  Hildred frowned. This life, with the travelling Panopticon, was all she had ever known and the motley players were the closest thing to a family she possessed. But there were other matters to consider. She took a deep breath.

  ‘I don’t want to perform any more. After all, you have furnished me with an excellent education, better I dare say than any schoolroom, and I would like to put it to good use. Perhaps I could be a governess or a tutor in a house that does not move from place to place. And I do not wish to be stared at any longer. I think I will go on to Opum Oppidulum after all.’

  Mr Ephcott paled. ‘You wish to tutor in Opum Oppidulum? Hildred, are you sure that’s the only reason? Better let sleeping dogs lie, don’t you think?’

  Hildred shook her head. ‘I want to go. It’s important to me – to find out about my real family.’ She looked at Mr Ephcott’s downcast face and gasped. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean it to sound like that.’

  ‘I know,’ said Mr Ephcott. ‘I – we – have all done our best, but it’s not the same.’ He laughed lightly. ‘And I also know that once you have made up your mind you will not be swayed. It’s not a bad place, Opum Oppidulum, certainly better than Urbs Umida. I believe Lake Beluarum is a sight to behold. The deepest, coldest lake known to man. It is not so far, but winter is approaching. You will need strength and stamina.’

  ‘I have plenty of that,’ said Hildred.

  ‘Well, if you will go,’ he chided, ‘at least let me give you something to help you on your way.’ He
handed her a small purse heavy with coins.

  ‘I can’t take that!’ protested Hildred.

  Mr Ephcott was also difficult to dissuade from his purpose. ‘You must, for my peace of mind,’ he insisted. ‘I feel partly responsible for your decision. You are very special to me, Hildred,’ he said softly, ‘and I know it’s not always as easy for you as it is for others, but you have overcome much adversity. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you for lack of something as simple as money.’

  So Hildred took the purse and thanked him and gave him a long hug. He was smiling but Hildred could feel that he was shaking.

  ‘I will never forget you,’ she said with a small sob.

  ‘Hildred, my dear,’ he said kindly. ‘I know you will do well wherever you go. How could you not, for I have taught you everything you know!’

  18

  A Letter to Dr Tibor Velhildegildus

  Dr Tibor Velhildegildus relaxed in the luxurious surroundings of his top-floor room in the best lodging house in Opum Oppidulum, all compliments of the town’s grateful councillors. He was enjoying his celebrity status as the pioneer of the Lodestone Procedure.

  It was about a week since his meeting with the malodorous and dentally challenged Hooper Hopcroft, and he fanned himself with the letter in his hand as if to wave away any lingering smell. The letter was just one of many that had been delivered to his room since his arrival some days ago, but this one was slightly different.

  My dear Dr Velhildegildus,

  I hope you will forgive my being so forward in writing to you in this way. I am sure that many others have already imposed upon your time since your arrival in our good town, but I beseech you to spare a few moments to read what I have to say.

  My name is Acantha Grammaticus (recently widowed) and I am a resident here in Opum Oppidulum. I have a stepson, Rex, and it is he who concerns me. I have heard (who has not!) that you are a noteworthy Doctor of the Mind, and that your Lodestone Procedure is hailed as miraculous. I believe that my stepson might benefit from your attention.

  Since the death of his father, Rex has been acting most peculiarly. He refuses to speak to me, is secretive and shuts himself away in his room. He is destructive – in a fit of childish rage he destroyed many of his father’s models – and I know that he blames me for many things that are not my fault – the death of his father, for example – but I cannot make him see this. The situation has become unbearable. I wish to send him away to school in the near future: he is at an age when he needs the discipline of such an institution, but my concern is that once away from the house and the care he receives within its walls (for which he shows no gratitude), he might deteriorate further.

  It is possible that you already know that Rex’s father, Ambrose Grammaticus, spent the last few months of his life locked up in Droprock Asylum, the very same asylum over which you are to assume control. Naturally, I worry that young Rex is to go the same way, madness, as you are aware, being inherited in many cases. I am grateful that I, not being a blood relative, am wholly immune from any familial anomalies or mental feebleness.

  Recently, without my knowledge and wholly against my wishes, Rex’s father visited with him very shortly before his death. I am certain that he said something to turn Rex against me. As you can imagine, as a loving stepmother it is heartbreaking to be shunned by the boy whom I consider in so many ways my own flesh and blood. But my only concern is for him. I could bear the pain he inflicts, and indeed forgive him for it, if I knew that there was a cure for his ills.

  My question is this: do you suppose that your Lodestone Procedure might be a treatment suited to dear young Rex? I understand that under its influence patients reveal their deepest troubles, thus bringing about peace of mind. Perhaps you could persuade Rex to reveal exactly what it was his father said to him before he died. At least then I would be able to rebut any unjust accusations and demonstrate that I am not the monster he made me out to be (for I am certain his father said terrible things about me – he was completely insane in the end) and then Rex could go off to school untroubled by mental stresses.

  Dr Velhildegildus, I throw myself upon your mercy. Help me in my hour of need!

  With my warmest wishes,

  Acantha Grammaticus (Mrs)

  Postscript: I will pay, naturally, for your services.

  Tibor looked thoughtful. Under normal circumstances he would decline to help; he had many such begging letters but this one was different. Firstly (lastly, to be precise) the lady had offered to pay (this was highly unusual) and, secondly, there was the matter of her name – Grammaticus: now a surname of great interest to Tibor.

  He sat back in his chair and played his fingers on the desktop. Something was going on here, a chain of events set in motion, surely, by Fate. Well, if Fate wished to direct his actions, then he wasn’t going to ignore Her! So he took out a piece of paper and began to write.

  19

  Article from

  AN INTERVIEW WITH

  DR TIBOR VELHILDEGILDUS

  by

  Cecil Notwithstanding

  Well, this autumn month draws to an end and the full approaches, bringing with it the prospect of Madman’s Tide. Yet another lunatic's body has washed up on the lake shore and the whereabouts of Mr Camus Chapelizod remain unknown.

  Let us not dwell on that, but instead on the welcome news that the town council has recently secured as superintendent of the asylum the renowned Dr Tibor Velhildegildus. For many years now Dr Velhildegildus has run a very successful practice in Urbs Umida dealing with those who suffer instabilities of the mind. His arrival marks a return to more humane practices in the care of the feeble minded as was once commonplace in Droprock Asylum.

  I met with Dr Tibor Velhildegildus recently in his lodging house and our conversation is detailed below.

  Cecil Notwithstanding Welcome, Dr Velhildegildus, to the lakeside town of Opum Oppidulum. Tell me, what methodologies in particular do you practise when dealing with those afflicted by diseases of the mind?

  Dr Velhildegildus I believe it is vital to have a whole range of tools at your disposal, and never more so than when dealing with infirm mentalities. I am a highly qualified medical doctor with degrees from all the great educational institutions, but my specific skill lies in the treatment of those whose minds are ill at ease as is evidenced by my many triumphs. I recently certified sane a man who had been considered mad for many years.

  CN I have heard that you use magnetite in your treatments. This is a relatively new development, is it not?

  Dr V Indeed it is. I call it the 'Lodestone Procedure'. To be specific, it is a method whereby I am able to bring great comfort to those who find it difficult to deal with daily life. With the Lodestone Procedure I balance the negative and positive humours in the body and restore equilibrium to troubled minds. Mens sana in corpore sano, as they say.

  CN Ah yes, 'a healthy mind in a healthy body'. Is it true with this procedure that you can actually control the mind of your patient?

  Dr V Man has free will and chooses his path in life, but certainly with this technique I can tap into the deep recesses of the troubled mind and draw out the true nature of a person. This is vital if I am to suggest to them how best to address their problems.

  CN Fascinating, Dr Velhildegildus, but what of the asylum itself? How long will it be before you can admit patients again?

  Dr V Renovating the asylum is my highest priority. I wish to create a pleasant and soothing atmosphere in which to treat the future inmates.

  CN Doubtless the citizens will be grateful for that! Now I wonder, are you aware of the stories that are associated with the asylum and the lake?

  Dr V (laughs slightly) No doubt you refer to the ghost in the maze of catacombs and the monster in Lake Beluarum. I am a man of science, and I do not believe in ghosts. As for the creature in the water, I am neither a sailor nor a fisherman so I think I will be safe.

  CN Many thanks, Dr Velhildegildus.

  Dr V No
, thank you!

  Well, dear readers, what an honourable and wonderful man! How fortunate we are to have him in charge of the asylum, and we look forward to a long and happy relationship with him.

  Now on to my investigation into the ongoing problem of beggars.

  Tibor smiled a crooked smile and laid down the Hebdomadal. That should keep the nosy parkers away from the island for long enough. He looked again at the diagram for the Perambulating Submersible. He had spent a good few hours copying it out on to decent paper. The original was falling apart and the ink, some odd concoction, certainly of poor quality, was fading. The more he studied it the more he thought it could be done. Imagine! To be the man who built a full-sized working underwater vessel! He would be famous and rich. And what better place to build it than in an empty asylum reached only by a small boat. No one would possibly suspect. And then there were the diamonds. It was almost too much luck! Even the two small ones he had from Hooper (strictly speaking, one belonged to Melvyn Halibutte) were worth a small fortune. Either way, how could he lose? As for the lunatics? Let their families deal with them for once.

  He pulled out his pocket watch. Just enough time to polish the Lodestone before the arrival of Mrs Grammaticus.

  20

  The Lodestone Procedure

  From the street below Rex heard hoofs, followed shortly by the sound of knocking at the front door. Subsequently, footsteps on the stairs warned him of Acantha’s approach. She was heavy-footed these days. Since dispensing with Ambrose she had been living well and was rapidly gaining in girth. In fact her swollen face was barely recognizable as the dainty young lady his father had married.