The Lunatic's Curse (14 page)

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

‘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.

‘Gotta chain the boat up sometimes,’ he explained. ‘In case it’s stolen.’

‘What about the monster?’

‘It’s
in
the water, and we’re
on
the water. We’ll be safe enough.’ He resumed his disjointed, haunting whistle and as an accompaniment she could feel
the oars bumping against their rests.

‘What did you mean when you said the asylum was back to rights?’ asked Hildred after a while.

‘Well,’ said Walter, ‘it’s like this. When people is locked up for long enough they wants to escape. You know, like an animal that needs to be free, and the time came when
the people—’

‘The patients?’ suggested Hildred.

Walter shrugged. ‘Call ’em what you like, they wanted to be free and they escaped. I took a few of ’em ashore, the more sensible ones. The others, well, they tried to swim to
Opum Oppidulum and of course they drowned. The water is too cold. You couldn’t survive more than a minute or two.’

‘I saw a body on the beach,’ said Hildred, and Walter shook his head sadly.

‘Some people, you just can’t tell ’em.’

‘Who was supposed to be in charge? Were they not being looked after?’

‘A man called Mr Chapelizod was the superintendent, but he was a nasty piece of work. Subjected them poor fellas to all sorts of terrible treatment – bloodletting, torture, beatings.
’E ’ad ’em chained up all day and night. It weren’t right what he was doing to them poor souls. Some of ’em weren’t even mad. Just stuck in there by their
families who didn’t want nowt to do with them any more. Still, this new fellow, Dr Velhildegildus, sounds a fair enough man. He’s due over tomorrow. We’ll give him a
chance.’

‘What about Chapelizod?’

‘No one knows where he is,’ said Walter, ‘and no one cares.’ The boat seemed to rise on a swell but Walter was unperturbed. He began to whistle again and the mournful
tune echoed all around them in the mist.

22

Way down in the darkest depths of the lake, a distance offshore, the monster sensed that there was something in the water overhead. It had heard these noises before, and
recently more and more often. They did not disturb it but they did arouse its curiosity.

The creature, a primitive teratoid, glided smoothly through the numbingly cold waters of Lake Beluarum. It might have lacked the senses of a more evolved fish, if fish it even was, but it could
still feel the water against its glittering scaly outer flesh and the sensation was pleasing to it. It used its two huge front flippers, each with six webbed and clawed toes, to propel itself
lazily along. Its rear flippers hung motionless out behind it. Three eyes, the largest on the top of its lumpy head, and one on either side, gave it almost 360-degree vision. They were huge, as was
normal with creatures that spent their lives in tenebrous depths. Despite the darkness, it could still make out shadows on the surface above. It knew this particular shadow well: longer than a
fish, even the biggest fish in the lake. It had two flippers – at least that’s what they looked like to the creature’s rather limited imagination – dipping in and out of the
water, propelling it along. Perhaps it was another one of those strange creatures, the ones that flailed about making odd noises. They had been tasty, a welcome change from its usual diet of
deep-living dwellers.