The Lunatic's Curse

  ‘Hildred,’ he hissed as he had done for the last couple of nights, but this time he prodded the mound of blankets on her bed – only to discover that was exactly what they were: a mound of blankets.

  Hildred was gone.

  Now where on earth could she be? he thought. Undeterred by the hour, determined to tell her the good news, he went quickly to the entrance hall. It was from here that all the parts, good or bad, of the asylum could be reached, like a sort of crossroads, and there was a very clear dividing line between one side and the other. The east wing – light, superior in comfort and decor – was designed for the guardians; the west wing – dark, uncomfortable, insanitary – was for those who needed to be guarded.

  Rex, reluctant to go down into the cells during the day, was even less inclined to do so at night. As he tried to pluck up his courage, light footsteps alerted him to another nocturnal wanderer.

  Speak of the devil, he thought, and shrank back into the shadows just as Gerulphus appeared. Rex watched him disappear down one of the corridors. Off to the cells? he thought. Well, that made up his mind for him: if he couldn’t go down, then he would go up.

  He climbed the main staircase quickly. The first floor was a long corridor with rooms on either side. He could hear snoring from one (Mrs Runcible) and whistling from another (Walter Freakley). A third door, presumably Gerulphus’s room, was locked (Rex couldn’t resist trying the handle). All the others were empty and Rex noted signs that their owners had left in a hurry. Furniture was overturned, drawers appeared to have been ransacked and in one Rex saw draped over a chair a dark grey jacket, with some sort of red badge on it. A warder, he thought bitterly, cruelly reminded of the two uniformed men who had taken his father away.

  At the end of the corridor was another flight of stairs leading up to more rooms. These were much smaller, for maids and bootboys and kitchen staff. Finally, he came to one last set of narrow winding stairs, at the top of which was a small landing and a closed door. A thin band of light underneath alerted Rex to the possibility of an occupant on the other side.

  Well, he thought, I know it isn’t Gerulphus, and it’s hardly Dr Velhildegildus, and ghosts don’t need light.

  Thus reassured as to the unlikelihood of danger, he turned the handle. The door gave with a creak and opened into a dusty attic, with criss-crossing beams and a pitched roof. In the poor light – its source was a chamber candle set atop a stool – he could make out pieces of randomly stacked broken furniture, three-legged tables and seatless chairs, broken-hinged trunks and damaged tea crates. It smelt of bats and birds’ nests and dead animals. And ash.

  And there in the middle of the dust and the cobwebs sat Hildred. Her back was to Rex and she was wholly absorbed in whatever it was she was doing.

  Rex smiled and exhaled, unaware until then that he had been holding his breath. ‘Hildred! So this is where you go at night.’

  When she failed to react he reached out and tapped her on the shoulder. With a little shriek Hildred leaped up and turned, and it seemed to Rex that her head swivelled nearly the whole way round before her body followed. It was unnerving to watch.

  ‘Oh, Rex,’ she exclaimed. ‘You gave me such a fright. Don’t sneak up on people like that!’

  ‘Didn’t you hear me come in?’

  ‘Obviously not,’ she replied tartly, quickly recovering her composure. ‘Your great friend Dr Velhildegildus has certainly been keeping you busy. I’m honoured to see you.’

  Rex flushed. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I was really rude to you earlier. That’s why I came, to apologize, and to tell you something. Dr Velhildegildus . . .’ He stopped. ‘But what’s all this?’

  On the floor in front of her there was a stack of books and a pile of handwritten pages. From her expression it was obvious Hildred was trying to decide whether or not to tell him. Finally she said, ‘I’m looking for information.’

  ‘About my father?’ asked Rex, wide-eyed. ‘I knew you were up to something.’

  Hildred chewed on her lip. ‘Did you?’

  ‘Of course. I’ve hardly seen you. You weren’t in your bed and you’re always covered in cobwebs. But you should have told me. I would have helped you.’

  ‘Would you?’

  Rex knew immediately what she meant and began a halting apology. She interrupted before he could finish.

  ‘It’s not about your father, it’s about mine.’

  ‘Oh. ’Rex took a step back. ‘But you said you hadn’t seen him for years.’

  ‘I haven’t, not since my mother died. That’s why I’m looking.’

  ‘But why would you find it up here, in these books?’

  Hildred stared at him coolly and remained silent. Rex gasped, suddenly understanding. ‘He was here? In the asylum?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hildred defensively. ‘And what of it? It was nearly ten years ago.’ She knelt down and picked up the open book. ‘Mr Ephcott told me, when the Panopticon disbanded. He thought I was old enough to know. You see, when my mother died my father blamed himself. He lost his mind and was committed to the asylum. We were so near to Opum Oppidulum I had to come, to see whether he was still alive.’

  Rex was incredulous. ‘In this place? After a decade under Chapelizod?’ Hildred frowned deeply and Rex immediately regretted his insensitivity.

  ‘Well, obviously I arrived too late,’ she said. ‘Everyone was gone, but I wondered if maybe there were records somewhere.’

  ‘And these are record books?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hildred. ‘At least, what remains of them. Somehow most of them were burned during the breakout. I salvaged what I could from the ashes and brought them up here so I could look at them in private. But you have found me.’

  Now that he was closer, Rex could see that the books were indeed in a sorry state, badly charred, and the loose pages were brown and powdery.

  ‘What was your father’s name?’ he asked, sitting down beside her.

  ‘Arthur Buttonquail, but there’s nothing here.’ Hildred couldn’t hide her disappointment.

  ‘You did your best,’ said Rex, putting his arm around her bony shoulder. ‘You were just too late. Anyhow, this doesn’t prove anything. There might be other books, other records. Who knows, your father might even have been let out. Perhaps he’s in Opum Oppidulum right now, alive and well.’

  Hildred pasted a smile back on her face. ‘Maybe that’s where I should go, then. I have no reason to stay now. I only came for this.’

  Rex’s face fell. ‘You can’t go. Dr Velhildegildus said that you can help us if you want.’

  ‘With the asylum? But I want to be a tutor.’

  ‘Er . . . not exactly.’

  ‘Then what?’

  Rex looked her straight in the eye. ‘OK, I’ll be honest with you. Dr Velhildegildus has a plan for an underwater vessel, a Perambulating Submersible, and he wants to make it here. I did want to tell you, from the beginning, but I made a deal. He’s asked me to help because he knows that I am good at making things.’

  Hildred looked surprised but there was no hiding her interest.

  ‘So . . . will you stay and help us to build it?’

  Hildred laughed. ‘Why not? It sounds fascinating.’ She pushed the fragile books and pages to one side, then she stood up and dusted herself off. ‘Tell me more.’

  Hildred asked questions all the way back to their rooms. ‘You mean this will really work underwater? But how will you breathe? Through pipes? But they will limit the range of the machine. And what if they break? People have been trying to make underwater boats for centuries, you know. Mr Ephcott told me. The air supply was always the sticking point. This Re-breather sounds just the thing. If it really works, Dr Velhildegildus will be famous. Though I don’t suppose he’ll want to run the asylum any more.’

  Rex answered all the questions, keeping as close to the truth as possible; he knew that was the best way to lie.

  ‘And did you show him the egg?’ she asked finally.

  ‘No,’ sa
id Rex. ‘The egg is . . . special. I will show him, just not yet.’

  ‘I won’t tell him,’ said Hildred with a shrug.

  Rex hadn’t realized just how much he wanted Hildred to stay until he thought that she might not. But his pleasure was tainted by the strange gnawing at his insides, like something eating away at his belly. What Hildred said was true. If Dr Velhildegildus was to claim all the credit for his father’s design he really would be famous.

  There was a part of Rex that wanted to tell Tibor that he knew about the plan. But he didn’t trust him yet. It was better at this stage to say nothing. Perhaps he might even admit it later.

  ‘What’s that smile for?’ asked Hildred looking at Rex’s strangely twisted mouth.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said.

  Hildred felt sure that Rex was still keeping something from her. And the only way to find out was to help.

  35

  Mox Nox in Rem

  The clock struck seven. Rex knocked.

  ‘Enter!’

  Rex and Hildred found the geometrically jawed doctor warming his legs by the fire’s flames.

  ‘Hildred,’ he said smoothly. ‘I believe Rex has let you in on our little secret.’

  Hildred nodded. She found this man odd to look at. He had a curious way of speaking, his lips forming his words into strangely exaggerated shapes.

  ‘I think it is a wonderful idea,’ she said.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Tibor with a slight smile. ‘But I hope he has impressed upon you the need for secrecy.’

  Rex, hearing the slightest suspicion in Tibor’s tone (how that voice got under his skin!) reassured him hastily. ‘I have.’ He glanced over at Hildred but she seemed unmoved by Tibor’s nuances.

  ‘Then let us go.’

  It was with delight and trepidation that Hildred followed Dr Velhildegildus and Rex through the secret entrance behind the bookcase into the long tunnel beneath the asylum. And when they emerged into the blue light of the underground chamber she stood and stared in wonderment at the beautiful vista before her.

  ‘Rex,’ she breathed. ‘How could you keep this from me?’

  Rex smiled apologetically. From the sidelines Dr Velhildegildus was watching the two of them intently. It seems the boy is telling the truth, he thought. He stroked his broad jaw with his fingers, and his lips moved rapidly as he talked to himself. ‘There’s work to do,’ he said shortly. ‘Mox nox in rem.’

  Rex groaned.

  ‘Soon the night, get to business,’ translated Hildred, with a knowing smile.

  Rex spread the plan out on a large crate and the three of them pored over it.

  ‘Where do you suggest we start?’ asked Tibor, and both he and Hildred looked to Rex for guidance.

  Rex’s heart swelled. He thought of his father. All those years he had spent at his side, listening, learning and, more importantly, actually creating. This was exactly what Ambrose had prepared him for. It was in his blood. And it was for his father’s blood he was doing this now.

  Rex took a deep breath and began.

  ‘Hildred, you start with this part. It’s small, but important, and needs to be put together accurately. Dr Velhildegildus, you can work with the panels. They can be assembled now, and then fixed together later. I will begin work on the Re-breather.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Hildred with a laugh and a mock salute, and even Tibor managed a smile.

  For the next five days, and on into the nights, the unlikely trio – Rex, Dr Velhildegildus and Hildred – worked away in the underground chamber creating the vessel that for one of them was ultimately a matter of greed; for another a labour of salvation and healing; and for the third of little consequence at all.

  It was by no means an easy job and all of them found it exhausting, both mentally and physically, but particularly Rex. With every turn of the screw, every downswing of the hammer, every pounding of the mallet, he felt as if his father was in the chamber with them, watching over his work, silently judging.

  Tibor was the most keen, to the point of obsession, if not the most talented. He would have been perfectly content to put the whole machine together himself but, lacking the required practical and mechanical knowledge, and limited by the time constraint he had placed upon the work, he allowed Rex to take charge. And the boy had proved from the outset that he was more than capable of managing the task.

  Dr Velhildegildus was a quick learner, and what he lacked in skill he made up for in enthusiasm. He had no qualms about taking a greasy spanner to a nut or a dusty cloth to a piece of glass. Rex had not thought a man of his social standing and reputation would have been so ready to get his hands dirty. It was a side to the doctor that he found surprising.

  Tibor had brought down (well, more accurately, Rex and Hildred had carried) a large supply of food and drink to the chamber, but he himself seemed hardly to need sleep or nourishment. If it wasn’t for Rex or Hildred stopping occasionally, Rex doubted Tibor would have taken any food at all. But Tibor’s energy, a sort of superhuman madness, was contagious and soon Rex and Hildred too found themselves less and less inclined to halt. Instead they threw themselves into the project with the same obsessive compulsion as the doctor.

  As for Hildred’s contribution, undoubtedly she had skills that were needed in his project. Mr Ephcott had impressed upon her the importance of logical and sequential thinking and she proved well able to follow the plan without any help whatsoever (Tibor, whose mind seemed rather less organized, needed regular reassurance). Her nimble fingers were invaluable when it came to tricky and awkward parts, and her ability to contort to any shape meant that she could reach into places that neither Rex nor Dr Velhildegildus could ever hope to access. But she became so deeply absorbed in what she was doing that Rex lost count of the times he had had to repeat what he said to her.

  Nut by nut, bolt by bolt, panel by panel, the Perambulating Submersible grew before their eyes. Rex knew that it was going to be a truly beautiful piece of machinery, unrivalled anywhere in the country, perhaps even the world. How he wished his father could be there to see it. How he wished he could pilot it. How he wished that people would know the truth of its inception . . .

  ‘What are you going to call her?’ asked Hildred on the afternoon of the fifth day as they took a moment to stand back to examine their work. It was now so close to completion that it did not take much imagination to see that the Perambulating Submersible was to be a spectacular vessel. ‘She must have a name.’

  ‘I am as yet unsure,’ said Dr Velhildegildus.

  ‘Indagator Gurgitis,’ said Rex without hesitation. He laughed when he saw the expressions on Hildred’s and Dr Velhildegildus’s faces. ‘It means “Explorer of the Deep”.’

  ‘You told me you hated Latin,’ said Hildred with narrowed eyes.

  Tibor stood up. ‘Indagator Gurgitis it is,’ he declared. ‘Now, seeing as we are so far ahead of schedule and that my vessel requires little more than a tweak here and a tweak there, a good polish and the installation of the Re-breather . . . ’ Here he looked enquiringly at Rex.

  ‘It will be ready, Dr Velhildegildus,’ said Rex confidently. ‘I will fit it myself on the day of the full moon.’

  ‘Excellent,’ continued Dr Velhildegildus. ‘Then I propose that we return to the asylum for the rest of the day.’

  Hildred was very pleased to hear this. Fascinating as she found the project, she was longing for fresh air. ‘And to get away from the constant clanging and pounding,’ she said. ‘Everything echoes dreadfully down here. It hurts my head.’

  Rex was equally pleased. He felt he had reached a point of fatigue beyond which he thought it impossible to go.

  And so it was with great relief on all sides that the three returned to the study. Tibor sat down gratefully by the fire.

  ‘There’s a letter here for you,’ said Hildred. She picked it up from the desk and handed it over, but not before Rex had seen the seal – the unmistakable blue seal of Grammaticus. His heart skipped a beat. How h
e hated to think of Acantha in his father’s study using his letterhead and his seal. But, more worrying, why was she writing to Tibor?

  Tibor broke the seal, unfolded the single page and glanced quickly at the contents, his lips moving all the time as he read it. He refolded it and put it in his pocket.

  ‘Off you go, then,’ he said, gesturing to them to leave. ‘I’m sure Mrs Runcible has an excellent lunch for you. I need to go to Opum Oppidulum this afternoon, to, er . . . attend to a few urgent matters. And I have visitors this evening so I suggest you both keep out of the way.’

  ‘Do you still intend to reopen the asylum, Dr Velhildegildus?’ asked Hildred at the door.

  Tibor looked a little surprised at the question, but he considered it before replying. ‘My dear friends,’ he said solemnly. ‘What do you think a madman is?’

  Rex could only stare at the corner of the letter in Tibor’s pocket while Hildred considered the question.

  ‘I have heard it said that it is someone who repeats the same action every day but always thinks there will be a different outcome,’ she said.

  Tibor steepled his fingers and smiled, causing his face to widen even more. ‘If that is the case, we are all touched by madness, are we not?’

  ‘Then should we all be locked up?’ asked Hildred.

  Tibor laughed. ‘There are plenty of lunatics under lock and key who would be perfectly at ease in the real world,’ he said. ‘And there are plenty of madmen who are free who should not be. But who is the judge? People fear what they do not know, what they do not understand, and they want to hide those things away. Some things are best left like that. Hidden. The real lunacy would be to continue to enquire into what doesn’t concern you.’

  The hint was hardly subtle, and Rex and Hildred left the study. As soon as they were out of earshot Rex grabbed Hildred by the arm. ‘I have to see that letter,’ he said. ‘It’s from Acantha.’

  ‘I know,’ said Hildred.