The Lunatic's Curse (16 page)

Dr Tibor Velhildegildus clambered rather ungracefully out of the wooden boat to stand on the end of the projecting rock that acted as a natural landing place on Droprock
Island. He smoothed back his hair (the mist had made it rather unruly) and brushed down the seat of his trousers. He looked around him at the uninviting shore. It looked far more likely that he
would find dead fish here than jewels. But even young Rex had a diamond so he was confident that there was still something to Hooper’s story.

He had to shield his eyes against the weak winter sun. With his back slightly arched and his other hand on his hip he looked up at the building that was to be his new home. A self-satisfied
smile spread slowly across his face and he stroked his clean-shaven angular jaw in contemplation.

The Droprock Asylum for the Peculiar and the Bizarre was not the most interesting place to behold. It was undoubtedly showing signs of age, having been built two centuries before and,
thought Tibor, whoever this Chapelizod fellow was, he had certainly not paid any attention to the fabric of the exterior during his stewardship. He sincerely hoped that it would not be as bad
inside. He was well aware of the saying that one mustn’t judge a book by its cover. After all, how many seemingly sane people had he come across in his profession who, after a light probing,
had in fact proved to be completely mad? From where he stood now, the building looked hardly tenantable. He gloomily suspected in this case that the cover was a very good indication of what was on
the pages between.

Built on the highest point of the island, the asylum sat directly above him, defiantly gazing across the lake at Opum Oppidulum. It was a large square-fronted building, dark grey in colour with
thick green ivy covering much of the walls. On either side, set slightly back, the west and east wings extended out towards the perimeter wall. At first glance the building looked as if it could be
an ordinary functional dwelling, but the windows gave away its true purpose. They were small and all iron-barred with the exception of those on the top floor. Presumably if an occupant had
attempted to escape from up there, death was considered inevitable and no impediment to the escape was thought necessary.

Nonetheless it was an imposing edifice. Tibor, slightly daunted now that he was finally here, patted his breast pocket wherein rested Hooper’s diamonds and the plan for the sub-aquatic
vessel. He steeled himself for what was to come and reminded himself of the path that had brought him here. He was a great believer in Fate and the evidence of Her existence in this case could not
be disputed. He counted off the coincidences on his fingers: first to meet that loon, Hooper; then on the same day to have an offer of a job in the very place Hooper had found the diamonds; and
finally the boy, Grammaticus, and his father’s design for the unique underwater vessel. And add to the mix the marvellous meal last night . . . It was many years since a woman of
Acantha’s unique culinary talents and attributes had cooked him such a hearty meal. It quite stirred him up inside.

Tibor truly felt as if the stars had suddenly all aligned in his favour. Whatever discomfort he had to suffer here, it was going to be worth it.

The sun had gone in and creeping yellow fog was all around. It had a strange smell to it, a sort of sweetness, but the sweetness that one usually associates with rot.

‘It comes off the lake,’ said Walter Freakley helpfully when he saw the look on his passenger’s face. Tibor glanced back at the few feet of dark flat water that was still
visible and noted that there was no evidence of their arrival, no eddies, no disturbances on the surface. It was as if Freakley’s oar had never touched it. Strangely enough, though, he
thought he could still hear the echo of the man’s tuneless whistling.

‘Not always so flat,’ said Walter. Tibor thought that the oarsman’s face seemed to have caved in in the middle, a little like a button stitched into a chair with tight
radiating creases.

‘Once a month, at the full moon, the water rises and afterwards there are all sorts of things left behind. They call it Madman’sTide.’

‘What sort of things?’

‘Dead creatures from deep in the lake, teeth, bones and the like.’

And diamonds? thought Tibor.

‘That’s why they built the asylum so high up,’ explained Walter. ‘In the past the water has risen halfway up the cliff. There’s a water mark.’

Tibor looked to where Walter was pointing and saw clearly the brown mark on the rocks. ‘Only at the full moon, you say?’

‘Guaranteed,’ said Walter. ‘You’ll see it for yourself soon enough.’

‘Is this the way to the asylum?’ hinted Tibor, anxious to go, nodding towards the rocky steps at the base of the cliff.

They climbed what felt like at least a hundred steps to stand on the flat top of the rock facing the wall of the asylum. It presented a huge unscalable obstacle. And if by some miracle someone
had managed to get to the top of it the surface was deliberately set with jagged razor-sharp stones upon which skin would be quickly shredded to pieces.

And where indeed would you even go? Tibor asked himself. The island was not particularly big. The only way to the mainland was across the cold dark lake. There was only one landing point, the
remainder of the island being sheer cliff face. There were two gates in the wall, huge wrought-iron constructions, but they were already open.

‘There’s no one to keep in,’ explained Walter.

Weeds intertwined themselves around the gates and straggled across the path, once paved but now cracked and distorted, that led to the main entrance. If he had looked up Tibor would have caught
sight of a pale face at one of the windows observing his ingress, but he didn’t and so, blissfully unaware that he was under intense scrutiny, he climbed the steps to the imposing doors. A
man came out and managed the briefest of smiles.

‘So you are the famous Dr Velhildegildus,’ he said. ‘Welcome. My name is Gerulphus. I am the asylum caretaker.’

Tibor looked at the tall, pale, abnormally thin fellow before him and nodded slowly. ‘Gerulphus, eh?’ he said softly. ‘I knew a man once called Gerulphus. Long time
ago.’

‘It’s a common enough name.’

‘Well, Gerulphus, and, Walter, I believe that it has been a trying time for you both.’

‘Oh, it certainly has,’ agreed Walter with feeling. ‘Poor Mrs Runcible, the cook, has been most unsettled by it all. Though with everyone gone her workload is not what it would
have been. But I brought over a young girl the other night to help out in the kitchen. Hildred’s her name.’

‘So how many staff are there?’ asked Tibor.

‘Well, there’s myself, the girl and the cook, and Gerulphus here. The warders left after the escape.’

‘Not surprising, I suppose,’ said Tibor. ‘After all, a bunch of lunatics can be quite an intimidating sight!’

‘You’re telling me,’ said Gerulphus with something approaching levity.

‘I was half frightened to death by them,’ said Walter. ‘Out of their minds they were.’

‘Well, that’s all in the past,’ said Tibor.

‘Allow me to show you around,’ offered Gerulphus. ‘You’ll see what it’s been like here.’

‘Hmm,’ mused Tibor. ‘Very well, a brief tour, and then take me to my quarters. I should like to see Chapelizod’s books. I believe he has a substantial library to do with
my profession.’

Gerulphus smiled briefly. ‘Ah, yes, your profession, the mysteries of the mind. Mr Chapelizod did indeed have a comprehensive collection. I think you will be pleased.’

‘Oh, have no fear about that,’ said Tibor. ‘Have no fear.’

Walter looked at the two men quizzically. There was an odd tension between them. He shrugged. He was the boatman. He was not interested in how the place was to be run.

Gerulphus proved to be an efficient, if uncommunicative, guide and he took Tibor quickly around the building and then to Chapelizod’s office as requested. Tibor noted on the way that the
damage to the asylum, largely in the west wing, was mainly superficial – broken furniture, up-turned tables – but seeing as it was such a bare, cold place there was not much around to
actually destroy. There was evidence of a fire in one of the rooms, but even that had been reasonably confined.

‘The lunatics were a little cold,’ explained Gerulphus.

They crossed the hall to enter the rather more luxurious surroundings of the east wing. Here were the superintendent’s rooms: a lounge area, a dining room, a library, a bedroom suite and
finally a spacious and well-appointed study. At the study door Gerulphus handed Tibor a large key from the bunch he carried on his belt.

‘Thank you, Gerulphus,’ said Tibor, ‘and please rest assured that I am not going to interfere in any way with your usual duties so you may carry on as normal.’

Gerulphus nodded and Tibor watched until he turned the corner before he entered the study and closed and locked the door. He hardly paused to look around before going straight to the bookcase
behind the desk. Without any hesitation at all he pulled out a green-bound volume of Gibbon’s
Decline and Fall
. Seconds later the entire bookshelf slid silently two feet across to
reveal a small opening in the wall, just big enough for a person to fit through. And right now that person was Tibor Velhildegildus. He stepped through, the shelf slid back again and there was not a
sign that anyone had ever been there at all.

25

From her room Hildred could just make out the lights of Opum Oppidulum. She was still getting used to the fact that, for the time being at least, she did not have to spend her
days travelling from one place to the next.

Upon landing earlier that week Walter had taken Hildred directly to the asylum and straight down to the kitchen to meet Mrs Runcible. She in turn had given Hildred a very warm welcome
(‘Oh, how lovely to have someone young around the place,’ she’d said. ‘I always wanted a daughter of me own’) and had taken great pleasure in serving her up a filling,
if not particularly tasty, hot meal. During the meal Mrs Runcible had chatted non-stop. Hildred only managed to catch half of what she was saying, but she had the feeling she wasn’t missing
much. And then Mrs Runcible had insisted on reading her tea leaves.

Later Gerulphus had come in and briefly acknowledged Hildred’s presence before settling down by the fire with a copy of the
Hebdomadal
. (‘He’s not one for chat, our
Gerulphus,’said Mrs Runcible.) He had read the paper from front to back but remarked only once that Cadmus Chapelizod was still missing. Mrs Runcible didn’t seem to think this was
particularly important.

‘Dreadful fellow,’ she had said to Hildred with a concerned shake of her head. ‘Now, finish up and come with me.’

Hildred had followed Mrs Runcible out of the kitchen and back up to the large stone-floored entrance hall from which all areas of the asylum could be reached. Dr Velhildegildus was to have a
suite of rooms to himself in the east wing of the asylum but Hildred’s room was tucked away up several flights of stairs at the top of the building. It was small, with a bed, a trunk for
clothing and a fireplace.

‘Now, dear,’ Mrs Runcible had said. ‘Settle yourself in and tomorrow we’ll sort out a few jobs for you. The place is in a bit of a state, you see; the lunatics really
were quite careless. Dr Velhildegildus is coming in a couple of days so we’ll try to make it nice for him. He’s a very important fellow by all accounts. And of course, once the place is
ready, then we’ll have more patients and you’ll be able to help out properly.’

‘I shall look forward to it,’said Hildred, but she was quite glad when Mrs Runcible left, worn out by her incessant chatter. No wonder Gerulphus hid behind the
Hebdomadal
.
She’d lit the fire, folded her clothes neatly in the trunk and then slipped into bed.

Hildred had spent the next two days trailing around after Mrs Runcible and acquainting herself with the asylum. It was hardly the most welcoming of places. It was built with its purpose in mind
and there was little extraneous decoration. The floors were tiled in grey stone and the lower half of the walls was painted brown. There were no pictures, only rudimentary curtains, the long
corridors were dark and smelly and all the doors were ominously solid.

‘Ooh, it’s a horrible old place really,’ Mrs Runcible had said more than once. ‘I stays down in the kitchen mostly, at least it is warm down there.’

Hildred had just listened. It was not easy to stop Mrs Runcible when she was in full flow. There was evidence everywhere of the breakout, but Hildred could see that the damage was not as bad as
it looked.

‘It looks as if they were burning books,’ she’d remarked when they came upon the remnants of a fire. And indeed there were very obvious remains of books in the ashes. Hildred
retrieved one of the rather less damaged ones.

‘Oh, well, you know, they were cold,’ said Mrs Runcible vaguely.

‘So how long were they at large?’ asked Hildred.

‘Long enough,’ replied the cook. ‘Until one of them suggested trying to swim over to Opum Oppidulum. Of course, that was the end of them. But that’s enough about all of
that. I don’t like to think about it really.’