The Lunatic's Curse

by F. E. Higgins

  ‘Er, well, actually I come from the asylum on the island.’ Chapelizod realized his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth.

  The driver smiled. ‘So you are a lunatic and a beggar?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Chapelizod. This wasn’t going at all the way he had hoped.

  The man jumped down from the cart and Chapelizod took a step back. A feeling of unease replaced his relief. There was something odd about this fellow’s demeanour. Chapelizod had been around enough madmen to know the signs.

  ‘I’ll help you,’ said the driver in a low voice now laced with menace. ‘I’ll put you out of your misery.’ In an instant he swung his unnaturally long arm round and hit Chapelizod over the head. He fell to the ground and he looked up to see a haze of glittering stars. He put his hand up to his mouth and felt his gold tooth. It has come loose, he thought angrily. ‘Hey,’ he protested but then the stars went out.

  12

  Article from

  A TRIBUTE TO AMBROSE OSWALD

  GRAMMATICUS

  by

  Cecil Notwithstanding

  It is with great regret that I announce the premature death of Mr Ambrose Oswald Grammaticus last week. He was a friend of mine and a gifted man.

  A native of Opum Oppidulum, Mr Grammaticus was considered by many to be one of the finest engineers and designers of the century. In his lifetime he designed and constructed many breathtaking buildings and structures, all of which serve only to enhance and improve the lives and environment of those who live in them or near them. He founded his company, AmGram Design, Engineering and Construction, when only barely out of his teens and through dint of sheer hard work turned it into one of the most successful businesses in the country.

  Before his untimely death Mr Grammaticus was working on a project to construct a much needed second bridge over the river Foedus in the city of Urbs Umida. It is now unlikely to be completed. In recent years he proposed to build a bridge across Lake Beluarum to Droprock Island. And there were rumours that he had plans to improve the east side of Opum Oppidulum which is suffering from neglect and is home to hordes of troublesome beggars.

  Tragically Mr Grammaticus was struck down earlier this year by a violent and incurable disease of the brain which rendered him incapable of leading a normal life. He had only recently remarried, his first wife having died twelve years ago. Mr Grammaticus spent his last months in the asylum on Droprock Island under the professional care of Mr Cadmus Chapelizod. His death comes shortly after the recent revolt at the asylum.

  Mr Grammaticus leaves behind a son from his first marriage, Rex, who is reported to be as talented as his father.

  13

  An Invitation from the Mayor

  In a city some days distant from Opum Oppidulum, Dr Tibor Velhildegildus (a doctor of the mind rather than of medicine) was contemplating a letter that had recently been brought to his consulting rooms by fast messenger and – for Dr Velhildegildus insisted that things were done in the proper manner – handed to him on a silver platter. He read with his lips moving, softly enunciating the words:

  Dear Dr Velhildegildus,

  Allow me to introduce myself. I am the chief councilor of Opum Oppidulum, a small, thriving town beside the world famous Lake Beluarum. I wish to draw to your attention the most pleasant nature of the town, centuries old and of great historical interest to scholars of the past, today the town is populated by friendly and welcoming people. We are very proud to say that Mr Ambrose Grammaticus (recently deceased), the celebrated engineer and designer, was a native of the town.

  We are also known for our mental institution, the Opum Oppidulum Asylum for the Peculiar and Bizarre, situated on Droprock Island, where we provide a safe haven for those who are feeble in the mind, discombobulated or eccentric in their habits.

  Unfortunately a rather disturbing occurrence came to pass in the asylum recently. The blame lies squarely at the feet of the ex-superintendent, Mr Cadmus Chapelizod. It has come to light that as a result of Mr Chapelizod’s wanton neglect conditions in the asylum deteriorated badly. The inmates expressed their displeasure by breaking out, vandalizing parts of the building and then all fleeing. We wish to put this to rights with urgent immediacy.

  Dr Velhildegildus, it is my understanding that you, as a doctor of the mind, enjoy a great reputation in Urbs Umida, your practice on the north side is highly regarded and your reputation for satisfaction is unrivalled.

  With this in mind I have a proposition for you: would you do us humble citizens of Opum Oppidulum the honour of coming to our town (you are now aware of its wonderful nature and situation) and taking over as superintendent of Droprock Asylum? You will be well rewarded, the patients’ families are most anxious for cures or long-term care (diseases of the mind present such inconveniences to a family) and pay handsomely. As an added incentive we, the councilors, have voted to increase the salary that goes with the post to what we are sure you will agree is a generous sum.

  At present the asylum is empty apart from a cook and a caretaker. The warders, unfortunately, deserted their posts in the revolt and the lunatics drowned in Lake Beluarum.

  If you are unsure, please come to visit us before you make up your mind. I suggest that you take a carriage at our expense and reply in person.

  Yours etc.,

  Dr Velhildegildus looked at the letter and chewed the inside of his lip thoughtfully. Hmm, he mused. Opum Oppidulum. He had vague memories of the place, for he had spent some time there once with a rather lovely lady friend.

  Dear Meredith, he thought, I wonder where you are now.

  She certainly had some novel ideas.

  But in truth at the time he could hardly wait to leave! And, having left, he had built a very good life for himself in Urbs Umida. Certainly Urbs Umida had its faults, but Opum Oppidulum? Over four days’ travel away, if he recalled correctly, and right beside a freezing lake. Exactly who was the lunatic here? He looked around his plush and comfortable rooms and laughed. Not even the hounds of Hades could drag him back! So he put the letter away in the drawer of his desk and sat back to contemplate in comfort his good fortune.

  Tibor Velhildegildus considered himself a man of learning, style and good taste, and made great efforts to present himself in this way. Understandably therefore, he lived on the north bank of the river Foedus among the wealthy and successful. He only ventured south of the river, where the city was of an entirely different nature, when necessary and avoided if he could its crooked pavements (for it was his preference when travelling about to use a sedan chair).

  Practically, he saw little reason to venture over the bridge. His business, after all, was to fix heads and there was no doubt in his mind that the mental well-being of the rich elite was vital to the survival of a city. He also believed that a good day’s work deserved a good day’s pay. And every day was a good day for Dr Velhildegildus. There was great demand among the well-off for his ‘services to the mind’. A man of many talents, Tibor had soon tapped into that aspect of a rich man’s psyche that believes quality of service comes only with a high price; his services must have been top quality for certainly his prices were very steep.

  Dr Velhildegildus lived in a spacious set of rooms, consisting of not one but two floors, in one of the most fashionable parts of the north side. The largest room on the ground floor, wherein he now sat, was given over to his consulting salon, complete with an outrageously expensive leather couch, matching chair and a valuable, finely crafted desk at which he wrote his patients’ notes. When in the middle of a consultation, he sat in the chair at the head of the couch so he could not be seen. He said that he did not wish to influence his patients with his countenance. The truth of the matter was that often times he was yawning.

  As for the mental health of those paupers and gin-addicts on the south side? Well, what time had they for problems of the mind! They were too busy trying to scratch a living. Besides, Tibor had observed that over the river the behaviour of the mad southerners (and there were man
y) varied only marginally from those who behaved in a way that was considered normal. It begged the question: what was normal and what was mad? But he felt disinclined to answer it. It had little bearing on his practice.

  Tibor sighed and drummed his fingers on the desk. Then he took the letter out and read it again. If truth be told, he was bored, intensely so, and was looking for a change. Could this be it? No, he thought, and replaced the letter in the drawer. The money was insufficient. He was well-off here. If he were to return to Opum Oppidulum he wanted more. Much more.

  The clock struck midday and his next patient was announced, a Mrs Cynthia Ecclestope. She had been suffering badly with her nerves. Tibor suspected she might benefit from his most successful technique, one he had employed with great success before leaving Opum Oppidulum and had been refining and using ever since. He took a small box from the desk and unlocked it. Nestled in the folds of green baize lay a large smooth disc of black rock on a long silver chain: his precious Lodestone.

  He took it out and held it up to the light. It swung gently to and fro and he followed it with his eyes. Tibor used this polished stone in what he termed the ‘Lodestone Procedure’, a technique by which he could realign the humours in the body and cure all manner of mental ills. At least that is how he presented it to his patients. In fact he employed his indubitable powers of persuasion and this magnetic rock to send his customers into a sort of trance. In the trance they were in a very suggestible state and volunteered all sorts of information (generally about their wealth) that could be used afterwards without their even realizing they had divulged it. Mrs Ecclestope, with her simple intellect and her nervous disposition (not forgetting her rich husband), was a perfect candidate . . .

  Some time later a very satisfied Mrs Ecclestope, relieved of the burdens of her mind (and a substantial burden of silver from her purse), thanked Dr Velhildegildus and tripped lightly away.

  ‘Same time next week,’ called Tibor after her.

  The day’s work over – professionals did not work afternoons – Tibor was looking forward to a light lunch at his club. He had just put on his new hat (on account of the unusual shape of his head all his hats were made to measure) and taken his cane from the elephant’s foot umbrella stand (all the rage these days) when the servant called to him.

  ‘What is it, man?’ he asked with irritation

  ‘Melvyn Halibutte has sent for you, down at Irongate Jail.’

  Tibor raised his eyebrows. ‘How interesting,’ he murmured.

  Now, you could be forgiven for thinking that the governor of Irongate Jail would be an unlikely friend of Dr Velhildegildus, but birds of a feather flock together and although Tibor and Melvyn were on different sides of the river they flew in very much the same direction. Tibor knew Melvyn Halibutte would not call upon him for any trifle. Besides, Melvyn kept a well-stocked drinks cabinet.

  So he called for a carriage and ventured south.

  14

  The Merry Inmate

  For those of you unfamiliar with the legendary city of Urbs Umida, and the notorious south side of said conurbation, to acquaint yourself with it you need only picture a place so foul and mephitic that merely to think on it brings tears to the eyes and a stinging to the nose. If that is not enough for you then use your imagination further to people the revolting streets with evil-eyed incorrigible swindlers, nimble-fingered pickpockets, heavy-browed thugs and gin-soaked layabouts in blood-streaked rags; a kind of multifarious pigswill of turpitudinous humanity all fighting to survive, for certainly it could not be called living.

  Those of you who do know of Urbs Umida, doubtless you can tell that little has changed in this hellhole ’tween times.

  On account of the large crowds still lingering after a public hanging, the carriage driver had insisted that Tibor get down and make his own way to the jail gates. To add to his displeasure Tibor could see quite clearly the dark silhouette of the fresh body on the gallows already being pecked at by the crows. A passer-by threw an apple core at the unfortunate, whose only crime had been to pinch a gentleman’s peruke.

  Urbs Umida was indeed a harsh and cruel place.

  It might only have been a matter of a few dozen steps but Tibor was feeling distinctly out of sorts by the time he presented himself to be waved through by the gate-keeper. He was escorted to the governor’s office and only felt safe once he stepped inside the spacious, warm and very tastefully decorated and furnished room. It could not have been in greater contrast to the prisoners’ quarters below. Truly, it did not do to get on the wrong side of the law in Urbs Umida.

  Governor Halibutte was waiting for Tibor, and the two men greeted each other – not necessarily as old friends, more as two people who knew that their relationship was always beneficial, each in his own way to the other. It worked like this. Tibor declared the prisoners insane and Melvyn seized their assets – as he was legally allowed to do to pay for their treatment, an insane prisoner being considered far more expensive than a sane one and incapable of managing their own finances – and they split the money. As for the prisoner, mad or not, he was left to his own devices in the cells below. A simple yet very rewarding plan.

  ‘My dear Dr Velhildegildus, how are you?’ asked Melvyn enthusiastically. As usual the conversation went no further without first a brandy and light refreshment: today honeyed figs with cream, in sharp contrast to the meagre slabs of cold porridge being served down below.

  ‘So,’ asked Tibor, ‘what news, my friend?’

  ‘Ah, well, something very exciting,’ replied Halibutte, rubbing his fat hands together.

  ‘I should hope so too,’ murmured Tibor, and he couldn’t help but glance down at his muddy shoes. They had been gleaming when he left the house. Not any longer.

  ‘Well, it concerns a fellow, a filthy vagrant, who was picked up last night. He is, needless to say, completely mad. Despite this, he is perfectly happy but most insistent that he has something of great interest to impart. He says that he heard about you in the taverns and has refused to discuss the matter with anyone else.’

  Tibor was vaguely flattered that his reputation was abroad but this was countered by the fact that this particular admirer appeared to be a genuine southside lunatic.

  ‘I fail yet to see how this was worth my journey,’ said Tibor with a smile.

  ‘I do understand what hardship it is for you,’ laughed Melvyn, and he looked down at Tibor’s shoes. ‘But in this life everything has its compensations.’

  Tibor was growing impatient. ‘But if this fellow would not say anything then how did you know he was worth listening to?’

  In answer Melvyn went to his desk and unlocked a drawer. He took out a red velvet drawstring pouch and opened the neck. He held it out to Tibor who leaned over to look inside. Instantly a broad smile crossed his face.

  ‘Oh my,’ he said softly. ‘Oh my.’

  ‘He says there are more,’ whispered Melvyn, and he tittered excitedly.

  ‘This man is definitely worth talking to,’ said Tibor.

  For in the pouch were two delicate, glittering diamonds.

  By the time Tibor and Melvyn Halibutte reached the new prisoner’s cell door Tibor was in a state of great discomfort and regret. He had covered his face with his handkerchief as soon as they had descended to the cells. The smell was indescribable. Literally. Try as he might, Tibor could not think of a single word that adequately expressed the aroma of the place. It was nothing less than a physical assault. Melvyn also had a handkerchief over his face but he seemed rather less affected. It was not that he was immune to the smell, just more used to it. He beckoned to Tibor to come over.

  Tibor, adjusting his handkerchief, croaked, ‘Could we not have brought him up to see us?’

  Halibutte frowned. ‘Now, Tibor,’ he said, ‘do you really think I would allow one of these fellows in my office? Think of the fleas!’

  Tibor examined his dire surroundings and realized immediately the stupidity of his question. The prison cells were as M
ars 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.’