The Lunatic's Curse

  Melvyn unlocked the door and Tibor stepped in. The man gave a great big smile. It was not a pleasant sight.

  ‘Would you be Dr Tibor Velhildegildus?’ he asked, and stood up and thrust out his hand.

  Tibor immediately put his own hands behind his back. ‘I am. And who might you be?’

  ‘My name is Hooper. Hooper Hopcroft.’

  15

  A Deadly Diagnosis

  ‘I hear you can cure madness,’ said Hooper.

  ‘Well, I do not wish to appear boastful,’ said Tibor, ‘but, yes, it is true that I have a very successful record in that department.’

  ‘Then I wish you to cure me. Or at least to declare me sane so I do not have to stay in prison or go to an asylum.’

  ‘An interesting proposition,’ said Tibor, ‘and one to which I will give my full consideration. But you must understand a cure does not come cheap. What means have you to pay for this? Might I suggest this?’ Tibor held up the velvet pouch. The diamonds were not in it but Hooper wasn’t to know.

  ‘You’re welcome to it,’ said Hooper. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from. I can guarantee it.’

  Tibor could actually hear Melvyn rubbing his hands together behind him.

  ‘Excellent. Well, my good fellow, if you can direct me to these diamonds I am sure it will cover all costs. I will certify you sane and you will be free to wander the world as you wish. You will have money and good clothes, which, as any man knows, are the true mark of sanity.’

  This instant diagnosis seemed to please Hooper immensely, though of course his expression rarely exhibited any other emotion. ‘You have a deal,’ said Hooper.

  ‘Excellent. And where are these diamonds to be found?’

  ‘I will draw you a map,’ said Hooper obligingly. ‘I have some cloth here.’ He pulled a piece of cloth from his pocket but in his haste he dropped it and Tibor, spotting that it seemed to be a diagram of sorts, stooped to pick it up.

  ‘And what might this be?’ he asked, holding it up between the tips of his white-gloved (he was resigned to their burning too) finger and thumb.

  ‘Oh,’ said Hooper, ‘it’s a plan for a vessel, a Perambulating Submersible. My friend Ambrose Grammaticus designed it; I merely drew it. We were to make it so we could escape.’

  Tibor’s ears pricked up. Grammaticus? The famous engineer? Wasn’t he the fellow planning to build a second bridge across the Foedus here in Urbs Umida? Not one of his better ideas, thought Tibor. Why give the southsiders another way over?

  ‘I see,’ said Tibor slowly, and examined the diagram more carefully. For many years people had been trying to find a way to explore properly the mysteries of the deep. There were plenty of failures but if a fellow such as Ambrose Grammaticus put his mind to it then it was highly likely to be successful. Tibor immediately saw an opportunity to increase his wealth dramatically. For, have no doubt about it, Dr Tibor Velhildegildus worshipped first and foremost at the altar of Mammon.

  ‘You could use it to walk along the bottom of the lake to look for diamonds,’ suggested Hooper helpfully. ‘That’s where they are. But wait until the full moon. The water level rises and it’ll stir up the diamonds.’

  ‘You mean Lake Beluarum, in the Devil’s Porridge Bowl, by the town of Opum Oppidulum?’ Tibor liked to be precise in these matters.

  Hooper nodded. ‘You know it, then?’

  ‘I know of it,’ replied Tibor thoughtfully. His mind was working fast. Suddenly the post of superintendent of Droprock Asylum was looking like a far more interesting proposition. Fate, in the form of a vagrant lunatic, was presenting him with an idea that could make him the huge fortune he sought: a vessel that travelled underwater designed by a renowned engineer. And, as if that wasn’t enough, a hoard of diamonds to boot. Ambrose Grammaticus might have been mad, but wasn’t genius part madness?

  Suddenly it wasn’t going to take the hounds of Hades to get Dr Tibor Velhildegildus back to Opum Oppidulum – merely a rather less supernatural horse and carriage.

  He turned to Melvyn. ‘No need to worry,’ he said. ‘You can leave us. The guard can keep an eye on things until I’m finished.’

  Melvyn needed no encouragement and left. Tibor reached into his waistcoat pocket and took out his Lodestone. He turned back to Hooper. ‘Tell me more, Mr Hopcroft,’ he crooned mellifluously. ‘I’m listening.’

  An hour later, safely installed back in Melvyn’s office, Tibor recovered from his ordeal with a brandy.

  ‘So?’ asked Melvyn. ‘Is there anything to his story?’

  ‘The diamonds? Yes, I do believe there might be.’

  ‘Then . . . what is my cut?’

  ‘Ho, ho,’ laughed Tibor at the unintended pun. He was in a very good mood. ‘Half?’ he suggested. ‘After my expenses, of course.’

  The deal was sealed with a firm handshake and another brandy, a Fitzbaudly ’37.

  Later that day a carriage heavily burdened with luggage strapped to the roof, rattled its way out of the city, heading north, deep into the heart of the Moiraean Mountains. Within it were two men both dressed in the latest fashion, though it must be said one looked far more at ease in his clothes than the other, who was chatting excitedly and clutching at a document with a grip of iron. It was not to be easily yielded.

  His companion sat opposite with his hands resting on his cane and his ankles crossed, though not in such a way as to scuff his shoes. He was a firm believer in the maxim that to know what a fellow thinks of himself, one must look at his shoes. He seemed preoccupied, although listening, and every so often he pulled back the blind ever so slightly and looked out at the terrain. Night was falling and the road was steep and uneven, as evidenced by the alarming jolting of the carriage, and at the edge of the road was a sheer drop.

  ‘So,’ he said, interrupting his friend’s merry rambling. ‘How does it feel to be a free man?’

  ‘Marvellous,’ the man enthused, and he smoothed down his new velvet coat and tried to see his wide smile reflected in his own gleaming boots. ‘I was thinking, mind, that really I would prefer not to return to Opum Oppidulum. Perhaps you could drop me off somewhere along the way. I believe there are plenty of villages.’

  ‘I am sure that can be arranged.’

  ‘Might I say again how pleased I am with this rather fine document?’ He held up the stiff page with a smile. Printed across the top in large black letters were the words:

  OFFICIAL DECLARATION OF SANITY

  ‘Yes, it is a most useful document indeed,’ smiled the other traveller. Then he started and looked down at the man’s feet. ‘There is a speck of some sort on your boot,’ he said. ‘Would you like me to remove it?’

  ‘How very kind of you.’

  ‘I have just the thing here.’ He reached into his pocket and took out a clean handkerchief. Then he took from the travelling valise at his side a small brown bottle. ‘This will bring up the shine like no man’s business,’ he said, uncorking it. He held the cloth over the mouth of the bottle, tipped it up for a second and in one swift movement stepped across the gap between the two of them, and pressed the cloth hard over his companion’s mouth and nose. There was a struggle, of sorts – the upright man had the advantage over the seated – before he went limp. Working quickly, the treacherous assailant dragged his unconscious victim on to the floor, opened the carriage door and heaved him out. He closed the door, tossed the handkerchief out of the window, followed shortly by the document which he had ripped into tiny pieces.

  Then he dusted off his hands and sat back with a self-satisfied smile. He took a piece of paper from inside his coat, spread it out across his knees and carefully studied the diagram. The carriage slowed and the driver’s face appeared at the window in the roof.

  ‘Everything all right in there, Dr Velhildegildus? I thought I heard a noise.’

  ‘Everything is fine, my good man. The door came open by accident, that is all.’

  ‘I thought there was two of yer?’ he said with a puzzled look. ??
?Hooper, weren’t it, the other fella?’

  ‘My companion changed his mind before we set off. He remained at the lodging house. He did not want to continue.’

  ‘Very well, sir,’ said the driver. It made no difference to him. The fare had been paid in advance. And with one passenger, well, the horses would go slightly faster.

  16

  A Book and an Egg

  Rex paced the floor like a wild animal behind bars, heedless of the crushed and scattered metal debris underfoot. He felt like a lion preparing to pounce on his prey, his muscles tensed and coiled, but the release never came. And he cursed under his breath and made his hands into fists, for he was exactly where his father had warned him not to be – in the clutches of Acantha.

  Barely seconds after his father had been hauled away by the constables Acantha had arrived and marched him back to the house and locked him in his room. ‘For your own safety,’ she had said, ‘in case any more of the lunatics come after you.’

  Of course, he hadn’t slept a wink that night and was ready and waiting when Acantha came up to see him the next morning.

  ‘Where is Father?’ he shouted. ‘Take me to him!’

  Acantha informed him coldly that Ambrose had died in the custody of the constables.

  ‘It’s true, Rex,’ said Stradigund, appearing from behind Acantha. He at least had the decency to appear vaguely upset. But it was too late. Rex didn’t want to hear anything he had to say and he pushed them both away and slammed his door. He stayed in his room for three days and his disbelief at the tragedy of his father soon turned to utter despair.

  Over the next week Acantha locked Rex in his room, with no thought for his grief. She came up to question him over and over about what his father had said to him on the lake shore. Rex had told her quite truthfully that Ambrose had been rambling and had said nothing of any worth or interest. First she had used her wheedling voice, the one she had employed with his father to twist him round her finger, but that didn’t last long. Then she tried to be friendly; it didn’t come easy to her. She even said once that she wouldn’t send him to Reform School. Finally she lost her thin veneer of patience and resorted to violence. ‘I’ll break every model in here,’ she screamed – and she had, one by one, smashed every model to smithereens. That had hurt more than anything but with gritted teeth Rex had stuck to his story.

  ‘He didn’t tell me anything.’

  But what was it she thought he might know? Something about the mysterious Andrew Faye? Whatever it was, Rex knew she was watching his every move. But he hardly cared any more. His world had disintegrated. He could not get the last sight of his father out of his mind: dragged away like an animal carcass over the shingle, two deep troughs left in the stones by his feet.

  But as the days passed his despair was replaced with the realization that he had to take matters into his own hands.

  He had to get to Droprock Island.

  Acantha relented somewhat and now only locked his room at night. In fact he had heard her turn the key only half an hour ago, but Rex didn’t care. With his skills, and his father’s picklock, this was hardly his greatest obstacle. Acantha would be sorry she had dismissed him so easily.

  Rex had pondered his father’s last cryptic words and actions until the early hours. He was determined to carry out Ambrose’s wishes and expose Acantha for what she was. In his mind, she was responsible for his father’s death and that made her a murderer. But there could be no more procrastinating. Action was required now. The last time he had failed to take action, Stradigund had invoked the Law of a Hundred Days and look what had happened after that.

  Stradigund had been over to the house with more legal papers, but there was no sign of Chapelizod. He had not attended Acantha’s meal as Rex had presumed the night his father had returned. In fact it transpired he had not been seen since the breakout at the asylum.

  Rex thought again of his father’s words. Don’t fly too close to the sun. He knew the Classical reference, to Daedalus and his son Icarus – his father had read him the story many times. In Greek mythology Daedalus had been an engineer too. Trapped with his son in a maze, he had made wings from feather and wax upon which to escape. Icarus’s downfall was to ignore his father’s warning. ‘Maybe that’s what Father meant when he said “On your head be it”,’ murmured Rex. If he didn’t do what his father said then he would only have himself to blame. But for what? Suddenly Rex’s heart began to race. Of course! Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He should fetch the book itself!

  The book, however, was downstairs in the library.

  Rex listened at his door and, certain no one was coming, he crossed swiftly to the fireplace and splayed his fingers on one of the decorative roundels of wood. He turned it twice and it came away to reveal a small hiding place. He reached in and took out a piece of soft cloth which he spread open on his palm. There lay within its folds two items: a diamond the size of a pea and his father’s picklock. These were his father’s last gift to him that night on the shore. He had hidden them in his trouser cuff until he was safely home. Presumably the diamond was a source of money – for a bribe perhaps, to pay someone to take him to the island.

  And I know exactly what a picklock is for, he thought, and merely seconds later his door was open and he was out on the landing. He knew that at this time of night Acantha would be snoozing in the sitting room in front of the fire, sated after dinner and, no doubt, a few glasses of expensive wine. The library was right next to the study.

  Shortly after, Rex stood again between the shelves, scanning the spines. He knew exactly where the book would be. It was a rare first edition that his mother had bought for him when he was a baby and it was kept safe here in the cool atmosphere. Rex ran his hand along the tops of the books, delighting in the smell of old leather and paper, until he came to it: an insignificant-looking slender volume with a soft brown cover.

  He left the library but paused at the study door. Decisively he turned the handle and entered. It looked much as it had the last time he came in; all that had changed was the thickness of the layer of dust. There was little here at first sight to help Rex in his quest for answers. He opened both desk drawers; one held envelopes and calling cards, ink and quills; the other some old sketches. He gave them a perfunctory look but lingered upon the last. ‘I remember this,’ he said softly. ‘The Perambulating Submersible. I had no idea Father had drawn it in such detail.’ He held it up and saw that Ambrose had sketched in one of Rex’s own suggestions. ‘I knew it was a good idea,’ he said in delight.

  Rex took the sketch but as he closed the drawer something rolled and bumped inside. He reached in again to retrieve a small oval-shaped brass object. It was smooth to the touch and most pleasing to the eye. Rex let it rest in his palm.

  ‘The brazen egg,’ he said with affection, and put it in his pocket. Then with one last look around the room he left.

  Once safely upstairs and locked in again, Rex settled on his bed with the book. He realized that he actually felt a little better now, perhaps because he had a purpose. He turned the book over in his hand. It was wrinkled and creased, grease-stained from when he had fingered it after a piece of pie (his father had been very cross with him for not washing his hands) and the pages were dog-eared. The front cover had a line drawing of Icarus, the winged boy who had flown too close to the sun, and on the back there was a drawing of a labyrinth. The book itself was a compilation of myths and tales of ancient civilizations. He knew the stories well. He looked at the flyleaf and read the inscription.

  He turned the pages slowly but by the end he was still uninspired. Perhaps it is just something to treasure, thought Rex, and no more than that. Something to remind me of better times. Of before Acantha.

  He shook his head slowly at the thought of the woman. He felt deep disappointment. He had been so sure the book held the answer. But perhaps he was looking in the wrong place.

  So he turned his thoughts to the island. It wouldn’t be that difficult to get acr
oss – there was a ferryman – but as soon as Acantha found out he had gone there she would just come to get him. If he hadn’t managed to find the evidence his father had left for him it would all be for nothing. Perhaps he should concentrate instead on finding the elusive Andrew Faye. Certainly Ambrose had bristled at the name. Did he hold the key to the puzzle? But how to find him, when he was stuck here in a house full of memories waiting for Acantha to decide his future?

  Rex sighed heavily and lay back, more conscious than ever of the ticking of the clock beside him.

  17

  Departure

  While Rex slept in the relative comfort of his bed, on the outskirts of Opum Oppidulum Hildred Buttonquail, a girl similar in age to the troubled boy, was not in quite such an enviable position. She stood on tiptoe on the edge of a rickety covered wagon, clinging to the window ledge with her fingers, peering inside. It was a clear night, and cold, and she would certainly have preferred to have been somewhere else.

  It was not easy to see anything much but she could make out the curled-up shape of the man sleeping on the narrow cot opposite the window. His snoring was so stentorian that she could actually feel its vibrations through her fingers. And the man from whose throat and nose the noises emanated was Rudy Idolice.

  Twenty minutes or so before Hildred looked in at the window, Rudy had been slumped in a thoughtful muddle in his small wagon, sadly contemplating its faded glory. How had it come to this? His bloodshot eyes swept the compact interior of his wooden home on wheels. Where once there had been silks and satins, now he saw only ragged curtains. Where there had been bright colours and polished wood, now he saw cracked and peeling paint. Evidence of his downfall was everywhere. In the moth-eaten rug, the crooked door swinging on its hinges, the window held in place with string. Rudy shifted on his seat; the cushion was worn through and his scrawny cheeks ached. He grunted and with some difficulty stood to look at himself in the cracked mirror. Its decorative gesso edge was chipped and the gold leaf was long gone.