The Lunatic's Curse Page 9

  Rex counted the steps. Same number every time. The housemaid did it in half as many again, always rushing along like a sparrow. But with Acantha it was a solid thud, thud, thud. There was no knock – she just came straight in. She was wearing her best cloak and Rex could see that she had rouged her face and applied some sort of scarlet lipsalve. Hardly for my benefit, he thought.

  ‘Fetch your coat,’ she snarled. ‘We’ve got an appointment.’

  *

  Not long after, Rex found himself standing in the plush entrance hall of Walton House, the finest lodging rooms in Opum Oppidulum.

  We must be here to see someone important, he thought.

  Acantha rang the bell on the desk and a man in a black suit came out from the back room and gave her a lifeless smile.

  ‘My name is Acantha Grammaticus. We are expected by the doctor.’

  Doctor? Am I here for a cure? wondered Rex.

  ‘Allow me to escort you to his rooms,’ said the man. ‘He has taken the top floor.’

  Acantha was huffing and puffing after only a few stairs and their diplomatic escort slowed his pace to accommodate her. It struck Rex as they made their way up that if someone could invent some sort of pulling platform to‘lift’ them from street level to the top of the building, it would save a lot of time and effort. Or perhaps moving stairs. Was that possible?

  ‘Anything is possible,’ he murmured, and made a mental note to think on it further when he had the opportunity.

  Finally they reached the top landing and came to a door upon which their helpful guide knocked smartly. The door opened and Rex and Acantha stepped into a luxurious room. A man was sitting in a chair by the window and he looked up at their entrance. Rex’s heart sank. He knew who this was – though only from his glasses: the sketch in the Hebdomadal was far too flattering to be accurate. This was the mind doctor, the expert who had come to take over the asylum.

  Was he, Rex Grammaticus, to be declared insane too?

  Rex looked long and hard at the doctor. He was a tall man, with thick dark hair beautifully smoothed back over his square-jawed, tetragonocephalic head. His wire-rimmed spectacles gave him a peculiarly piercing stare through the lenses. Although the bridge of his nose was broad, the tip tapered delicately to a point. He wore a moustache but was clean-shaven on the chin. He stood stiffly with one arm by his side and a hand on his hip.

  Tibor for his part was staring at Acantha, apparently transfixed by her; then he seemed to come to life and he smiled. But it was an odd sort of smile. Whereas a smile would usually change someone’s countenance markedly, a smile on this man’s face seemed to make little difference to his appearance at all. He was the sort of fellow whose thoughts one could only guess at, for his face gave nothing away.

  ‘Welcome,’ he said in a voice that somehow made one feel instantly and totally at ease. Rex thought it sounded like a soft paintbrush on a fresh canvas. Dr Velhildegildus took Acantha’s hand and kissed it.

  She flushed, ever so slightly. ‘I am Acantha Grammaticus,’ she said with a simper.

  Rex gritted his teeth. He hated to hear her lay claim to his family name. Now that his father was gone, he thought she should relinquish it.

  ‘Acantha,’ repeated Tibor with a smile. ‘My, what a delightful name you have.’ He inhaled and then dropped her hand. ‘Might I say how deliciously aromatic you are?’

  ‘Dr Velhildegildus,’ exhaled Acantha. ‘You don’t look at all like your picture. I am just so pleased to meet you. We have all heard so much about you.’ It was true. Everyone knew about the marvellous Dr Tibor Velhildegildus. He was the talk of the town and the toast of the Hebdomadal. Despite his fears, undeniably Rex was as intrigued as everyone else to meet him.

  There was an awkward silence as the two adults just looked intently at each other. It was Tibor who broke the spell. ‘Thank you again for your letter,’ he said. ‘It was most interesting to me. Now that I have met you, I sincerely hope I can help you.’ He turned to Rex. ‘You must be Rex.’

  Rex held out his hand dutifully. He was not surprised to find that the fellow’s hand was cold. He had that look in his eye, like a dead fish, but his words ran like syrup from a dripper.

  ‘So, my young fellow, what do you know of me?’

  ‘No more than I have read in the Hebdomadal,’ replied Rex, not quite as coldly as he had wished. He was not immune to Tibor’s charms either.

  ‘Probably for the best,’ said Dr Velhildegildus smoothly. ‘I find if a client has too much information it can affect the Procedure.’

  Rex’s eyes widened. Procedure?

  Dr Velhildegildus looked at Acantha with a smile and yet an expression of sincere concern. ‘I am afraid, my dear Acantha, in order to achieve maximum effect, I am going to have to ask you to leave. Your very presence could have undue influence. But do not worry, we can have a full and frank discussion afterwards.’

  Rex thought Acantha might object but surprisingly she acquiesced. ‘I look forward to it, Doctor,’ she said, and went compliantly into the adjoining room. Rex had already gleaned that Tibor Velhildegildus was a very persuasive sort of fellow. Now the two of them were alone.

  ‘Well, Rex,’ said Tibor, steering him to the couch. ‘Please, make yourself comfortable.’

  Rex did as he was told, now wholly under the spell of Tibor’s mellifluous tones, and lay back on the couch. Dr Velhildegildus turned down the lamps and in the semidarkness Rex watched him draw a chair up to the couch and sit down. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Relax, my dear boy,’ soothed Tibor. ‘I can sense that you are nervous but this is all for your own good. Do you know why you are here?’

  Rex shook his head.

  ‘Your stepmother is concerned for your well-being. She informs me that you have been very upset since the dreadful death of your father.’

  Acantha was concerned for him? Since when! This must be some sort of trick. Rex tried to sit up but Dr Velhildegildus pushed him back gently.

  ‘We were very close,’ said Rex, and suddenly, inexplicably, he felt tearful. ‘I saw him dragged away by the constables.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ murmured Dr Velhildegildus. His voice made you think of velvet; it had the same quality to the ear as to the touch. ‘I am here to help you to make sense of the things that have happened to you, but you must relax.’

  Make sense of it all? Was that even possible? Rex had the feeling that Dr Velhildegildus was taking in everything, watching his every move, and he made up his mind not to utter another word without first making sure it gave nothing away. But as soon as Tibor spoke his resolve seemed to melt away.

  ‘I am going to put you in a state of extreme calm,’ he crooned, ‘and then I am going to ask you some questions. It is possible that painful memories will be brought to the surface but I will help you to deal with them. All you have to do is watch and listen.’

  Dr Velhildegildus reached into his breast pocket and took out what appeared to be some sort of stone on a silver chain. It was shaped like a disc and dark in colour and it twinkled. He held the end of the chain in his right hand leaving the disc to swing on about six inches of chain.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Rex.

  ‘My patented Lodestone,’ said Dr Velhildegildus softly. ‘A disc of solid magnetite. Its qualities of attraction will help to harmonize all the volatile fluids in your body and bring you to a state of calm.’ He leaned forward and stared intensely into Rex’s eyes.

  ‘Am I to fall asleep?’ asked Rex.

  ‘Not asleep, you will still be aware, but on another level of consciousness.’

  With a slight movement of his hand Dr Velhildegildus caused the Lodestone to move. Slowly, slowly, it began toswing across Rex’s line of vision, right to left, left to right, right to left, along a steady arc.

  ‘Now, Rex,’ he whispered. ‘Keep your eyes on the Lodestone and empty your mind.’

  Rex tracked the movement of the dark disc from side to side. He actually found it comforting. The t
ension eased in his body and he succumbed to a wonderful feeling of calm. All his troubles were draining away. As instructed he began to empty his mind of all thoughts. In truth it would be a relief not to think any more. One by one he cast them out: his fears, his dreams, his worries, his suspicions, his terror. Rex began to enjoy the absolute emptiness of his mind.

  All the time Dr Velhildegildus was speaking in a low, soothing monotone. ‘Try to imagine that the inside of your head is filled with a light white gas that floats around in gentle swirls.’

  Rex did just that and found the sensation most pleasing.

  ‘Now,’ continued Dr Velhildegildus, ‘tell me about your childhood.’

  Immediately images of his father crowded into the space inside his head. ‘I was happy,’ said Rex. ‘All the time. My mother died when I was an infant, but Father and I, we did everything together. We used to make things, he was an engineer,’ he said proudly. ‘He built bridges and houses. All sorts of things. And he taught me everything he knew. I can build anything.’

  Velhildegildus’s right eyebrow lifted very slightly at Rex’s claim.

  ‘I sense that something changed.’

  Rex screwed up his face. ‘Acantha,’ he said. ‘Father married her, even though he knew I did not wish it. She was only after his money.’ Then he leaned up on one elbow and said in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Acantha smells; she smells strange.’

  ‘Calm yourself,’ said Velhildegildus, and Rex suddenly had the sensation of soft cream running all over his skin. ‘Tell me what happened before your father was sent to the asylum.’

  ‘He went berserk,’ said Rex. ‘One minute he was eating his dinner and the next he was attacking me. Acantha had him off to the asylum before anyone had a chance to find out what was really wrong.’

  ‘But he came back?’

  ‘He escaped, somehow, when the lunatics took over the asylum. And he had a hook in place of his hand, a dreadful-looking thing. And we went somewhere but I don’t know where. I fell asleep. He gave me a diamond.’

  ‘A diamond?’ murmured Velhildegildus before he could help himself.

  ‘Yes,’ continued Rex. ‘And he said, “On your head be it.” I think it was a warning to me, to do something, and that I might be in trouble if didn’t.’

  ‘What do you think he wants you to do?’

  ‘He said to go to Droprock Island and he told me not to fly too close to the sun.’

  ‘What did he mean by that?’

  ‘I think he means one of my favourite stories, a myth about Daedalus and his son Icarus.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I know of it,’ said Dr Velhildegildus. ‘Do you think your father wants you to make wings?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Rex. ‘I just don’t know.’

  Tibor was silent and he allowed the Lodestone to slow gradually. Then he waved the flat of his hand across Rex’s eyes and back again and finished with a smart clap. Rex opened his eyes.

  ‘Dr Velhildegildus,’ he said in surprise. ‘How did I do?’

  Tibor smiled. ‘You did very well indeed, Rex, very well indeed.’

  21

  A Boating Trip

  ‘Oh, fingerknots!’ exclaimed Hildred Buttonquail as she stumbled. ‘What on earth!’

  She looked down to her feet and her hand went to her mouth involuntarily. She felt slightly ill. And not without good reason. The cause of her near tumble was right there touching the toes of her laced-up boots.

  A drenched and lifeless body.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ she murmured. Carefully she hooked her foot under the sodden mass and turned it over – it was not difficult, its being merely a bundle of bones and rags – to stare into the dull eyes of a dead man. At least he suffers no longer, she thought.

  There was nothing she could do so she said a silent prayer and continued on her way along the misty shingle shore of Lake Beluarum. When the body was well behind her she chose a sheltered spot, a dip in the shore, and sat down to enjoy her last piece of bread and a boiled egg. It had taken longer than she’d thought to bid farewell to all of her friends at the Panopticon and she hadn’t left until after lunch. Mr Ephcott had accompanied her as far as the rim of the Porridge Bowl and she was grateful for that much, but it had taken the rest of the afternoon to descend to the lake. Already it was twilight and being so deep in this natural bowl, she guessed that night would fall quickly. She was glad to see the outline of Opum Oppidulum ahead in the foggy distance.

  Hildred pulled her cloak tight, raised her hood and brushed down her front. She thought of Barbata; she would not have discarded the crumbs so quickly! She scrunched up her toes a few times in an attempt to get the blood flowing again. Her feet were blistered and her bones ached. She looked towards the town. The large houses overlooking the shore were hardly the sort that would take kindly to someone knocking on the door looking for work. Tonight she would have to spend some of her money on lodgings.

  She walked to the water’s edge, enjoying the feel of the shifting shingle beneath her feet. She could hardly see more than a few yards across the lake before the mist became so thick as to be an impenetrable wall. She wondered if the water was safe to drink. She cupped her hands and dipped them in and gasped at how cold it was.

  To her right the shore curved away until it met with a sheer cliff that stretched for what seemed like miles. There was nowhere to go in that direction. With a resigned sigh she trudged off towards the town. As she got closer the fog lifted somewhat and she saw a small wooden jetty and a boat bobbing alongside. Then she gave a little gasp of fright. A man, hunched over, was sitting on the jetty dangling his legs over the side.

  ‘Hello there,’ he called, looking up. ‘What are you doing out on such a cold and foggy evening?’

  Hildred’s instinct was to run but she resisted. This fellow might be able to help her. As if sensing her hesitation the man reached for the lantern beside him and held it up. Now she could see his face properly. He was old, his head was very small, almost too small for his body, but his eyes were bright, and lively.

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ he said. ‘I mean you no harm. Stay where you are if it makes you feel safer.’

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Hildred boldly. Mr Ephcott had always told her to be brave and confident no matter how she felt inside. The man straightened and looked directly at Hildred.

  ‘Why, I’m Walter Freakley,’ he said proudly. ‘I’m the ferryman.’

  ‘Ferryman?’ repeated Hildred.

  ‘I go to Droprock Island,’ he said, gesturing out to the middle of the lake. ‘You can’t see it now, and sometimes you can’t even see it in the day. There’s a mist comes and goes on that lake that’s as thick as a Mrs Runcible’s pea soup. But if you’re lucky tomorrow it might be clear.’

  ‘I hear the lake is very big,’ said Hildred, and the boatman laughed.

  ‘It’s enormous,’ he said. ‘I mean, it’s so wide you can’t see the other shore even on a good day. And they say it is so deep that it would take a month to reach the bottom. That is if you were even able to get there.’

  ‘Perhaps in the right sort of vessel,’ suggested Hildred with inadvertent prescience.

  ‘Whatever the vessel, you’d never make it,’ said Walter firmly. ‘You’d be eaten before you knew it.’

  ‘By what creature?’

  ‘A monster,’ said Walter, ‘of proportions unknown to man.’

  He pursed his lips and began to whistle – a piercing, high-pitched, repetitive tune that Hildred didn’t recognize . . . but there was something oddly enticing about it. He stopped and spoke again.

  ‘So, my dear. You haven’t even told me your name, let alone your purpose. It’s not many young ’uns come to this place without a very good reason.’

  Hildred regarded Walter with a practised eye. Was this a man she could trust? ‘Well, I recently left a position I held for many years, to seek a different life.’

  ‘Were you in service?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Hildred. ‘I hope to be a tutor.
But to be honest, Mr Freakley,’ she confessed, ‘tonight I need somewhere to stay, then I can consider a job.’

  ‘You need no more than many,’ said Walter drily. ‘Well, perhaps your luck is in. After all, as soon as the asylum is back to rights—’

  ‘You mean the asylum on the island?’ interrupted Hildred.

  ‘You’ve heard of it?’

  ‘Oh yes. Opum Oppidulum is well known for it.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure Mrs Runcible would be grateful to have some help over there. She’s a marvel, that woman, does everything; cooking, cleaning. She could use an extra pair of hands. She was only saying the other day it’s too much for one.’

  ‘You would help me?’

  ‘Why not?’ said Walter kindly. He stood up and Hildred could see that he was only just as tall as she was. He stepped down into the boat and it rocked violently on the water. He seemed not to notice. ‘Hop in,’ he said, ‘and I’ll take you over. I’m expected for supper anyhows.’

  Hildred only hesitated a moment before jumping into the boat. Nothing ventured, she thought, and took her seat opposite Walter.

  Walter began to row and now that she was so close to him Hildred could see that he had a small snake tattoo on his neck. His face was deeply lined, so deep in fact that there was dust in the cracks. He was smiling to himself. ‘It’s my greatest pleasure to row,’ he said absent-mindedly.

  Walter rowed with even pulls, his strength belying his age, and the boat progressed quickly across the glassy water. It was only a matter of minutes before they were in the midst of the fog and Hildred could no longer see the shore. Neither could she see where they were heading. Walter was whistling again, that same eerie tune, and it seemed to her that the fog echoed it. Her feet crunched something on the floor of the boat and she noticed a chain under Walter’s seat. Walter saw her looking. In the shifting mist his face had taken on a spectral quality and she watched his lips as he spoke.