The Lunatic's Curse (10 page)

Tibor examined his dire surroundings and realized immediately the stupidity of his question. The prison cells were as Mars is to Earth when compared to Halibutte’s refined quarters; where
one had a thick plush carpet upon which to tread, the other had only a layer of straw, dead mice and foul-smelling mould. Where one was light and airy and pleasing to the spirit, the other was dark
and claustrophobic and soul-destroying.

As he followed the governor into the bowels of the prison, Tibor also had to endure the taunts and shouts and, once or twice, the saliva of a multitude of prisoners who had nothing left to lose.
Most were on their way to the gallows and none was likely ever to be released. To see such a finely dressed fellow as Tibor pass by the bars of their cells was an opportunity too good to miss. Tibor had already decided to discard his shoes when he returned home, but by the time he reached Hooper’s cell he was resigned to burning his entire outfit, even the brand new mauve foulard he had tied so jauntily around his neck before leaving.

Some things were just beyond salvation.

Under different circumstances he might have said the same about the ragged fellow who occupied the cell on the other side of the door. But this chap, he was worth a lot more than appearances
might suggest. He sat on a small bench against the far wall. He was in a wretched state, bruised and cut, without a tooth in his head. Tibor could tell this because the man was smiling and
laughing.

‘So, you say he was picked up last night?’

‘Yes,’ said Melvyn. ‘He was in the Nimble Finger Inn and apparently wouldn’t stop laughing. So a fight began and eventually there was such a ruckus that the constables
had to step in.’

‘Must have been quite bad, then,’ remarked Tibor. Usually the constables preferred to let the fights in that particular establishment reach a natural conclusion: death or flight.
‘Is it safe to go in?’

‘Oh, I believe so,’ said Melvyn. ‘After all, he was the victim. He has shown no violent tendencies at all.’

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

‘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

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.