‘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
Thoughts of the Monstrous Creature
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.
It went to investigate.
As it swam to the surface a solitary fish came into view – Salpa salpa a scientist would later name it – and within a split second the creature had flicked out one of its many suckered tentacles, wrapped it around the fish and reeled it back into its cavernous mouth. Five rows of serrated razor-sharp teeth sawed at the fish and the creature shivered with delight as the blood washed over its palate and the shredded flesh was drawn down the back of its throat on its way to its enormous belly. It had an odd taste and for a while after eating it the creature felt slightly out of sorts, but in an enjoyable way.
Satisfied for the moment, the creature turned its attention once more to the shadow above. But as it swam closer it was distracted by another sound, a tuneful pentatonic call. The sound was pleasing to the creature and by quickly pressing its huge tongue against the roof of its mouth and then releasing it, it echoed the tune back up through the water. Soothed by the music, it rested its fins and allowed itself to sink slowly back down. It had lost the urge to hunt. It would look again another day. Besides, the numerous parasites in its skin were beginning to feed and the creature was starting to feel unbearably itchy. It knew where to go to get relief so it tipped up and headed, with instinctive purposeful intent, nose down towards the bottom of the lake where recently a large fissure had burst open in the lake bed, spewing forth strong gases and glittering stones.
23
The Third Party
Locked in his room again, Rex stood by the window, rolling over and over in his hand the brazen egg he had taken from his father’s study. It was in fact a small brass prototype that he and his father had been working on before his life had become so complicated. His eyes were drawn as ever to Droprock Island where the asylum rose above the mist in the distance. The light in the upper window was on intermittently but since the breakout had been discovered the rest of the asylum remained in darkness.
Rex still felt a little odd from the Lodestone Procedure the previous day. He could hardly remember what he had talked about while on the couch. Afterwards, as he lay there in a sort of daze, Acantha had returned to the room and she and Dr Velhildegildus had spoken in hushed tones. He heard brief snatches of their conversation; they were talking about him, but he also heard mention of someone called Meredith. He noted that they seemed very much at ease with one other, laughing softly as they discussed his fate.
‘And you intend to send him off to school?’ asked Dr Velhildegildus.
Acantha nodded. ‘Next week,’ she replied. ‘I can’t think what else to do.’
‘Well,’ mused Tibor. ‘I think I might have a solution to the problem that will benefit both of us.’ He looked over at Rex and then ushered Acantha back into the adjoining room and Rex heard no more. When they had eventually returned home Rex had been overwhelmed with fatigue and had slept like a log all night for the first time in weeks. Now, however, he was making plans of his own. Whatever scheme Dr Velhildegildus and Acantha were cooking up, he wanted no part of it. Acantha was busy tonight – she was having another one of her suppers – and as soon as the guests arrived he was going to take off. He had decided to take a chance and go to the asylum. He would find what his father had left and take it to Cecil Notwithstanding. After that? Well, he wasn’t entirely sure. He might not be able to stay in Opum Oppidulum. But he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
Earlier there had been another delivery from the butcher and in the last half-hour the cook, the housekeeper, the maid and the bootboy all left together to enjoy a free evening. As the time of his departure drew near, Rex’s excitement and fear grew in equal measure.
Just then two carriages arrived in quick succession; from the first stepped Mr Stradigund – Rex would recognize that stoop anywhere – but from the second a dark-cloaked stranger emerged. Hmm, wondered Rex. Could this be Andrew Faye? The man who held a vital piece to the puzzle of his father’s madness; the man who linked Acantha with her conspirators. This might be his last opportunity to find out more about him. If he could perhaps talk to him somehow, ask him about his father, maybe he could shed some light on the whole mystery.
I think perhaps I should take a look, thought Rex.
Acantha still had no idea about his picklock, and what great pleasure it gave him to know something that she didn’t! It was only a matter of moments before he was down in the hallway. He could hear his stepmother and her guests below in the kitchen. The aroma of something meaty and delicious came wafting up towards him. Rex crept down the stairs and along the narrow hall that led to the kitchen. He drew up at the door, which was slightly ajar, and stood quietly in the shadows.
Rex had always thought Acantha’s
supper nights rather unusual, but then he also knew not to expect the ordinary from his stepmother. It was an eerie scene upon which he gazed. The low-ceilinged room was lit by one large candelabrum in the centre of the table, holding six tall candles. Three places were set, each laid with the best silver and crystal and a shallow but capacious dish. Stradigund was already seated while Acantha was busy at the stove. The third member of the party was just out of sight. Rex could see only the tips of his shoes, polished and pointed. Step forward, Mr Faye, urged Rex silently. Come into the light! But he remained tantalizingly out of view.
Acantha was tending to a huge black pot, stirring its contents around and around. ‘My, my,’ she said, turning to her companions with a smile, ‘I think I have surpassed myself this time.’
The pointed shoes made their move.
Yes, thought Rex, at last!
And there stepped into view none other than Tibor Velhildegildus. A smile crossed his wide face. He leaned over the pot and sniffed deeply; his eyes were shining and saliva glistened on his lips.
Dr Velhildegildus! thought Rex, completely taken aback. He was both surprised and disappointed. He had been so sure it was Andrew Faye.
‘Dr Velhildegildus, you will find that Acantha is an excellent cook,’ said Stradigund.
‘Well, I am simply delighted to be here tonight,’ said Tibor. ‘What a happy coincidence that we met, Acantha, and can do each other such favours.’
Acantha tutted. ‘That boy, he is like a thorn in my side.’
‘Not for much longer. Just send him on over to me on Droprock Island. As we discussed yesterday, he will not be idle. I will send you reports of his progress.’
‘And I will look forward to them,’ grinned Acantha.
Rex frowned. So that was what they had been planning. So now he was going to the island, not to Reform School. He undoubtedly felt relief, but why the change of heart? What exactly would he be doing in an empty asylum? More questions, still no answers. Stradigund was becoming impatient. He took a large mouthful of the opaque ruby liquid in his crystal glass and smacked his lips. ‘Acantha, put us out of our misery! Let us have some stew!’
Acantha wrapped two great thick cloths around the handles and lifted the pot from the stove to place it in the middle of the table. ‘It’s a different cut this time,’ she remarked. ‘Not so lean.’
‘Well, it’s the fat that gives meat its taste, and as long as that taste is good, who cares which part of the beast it comes from,’ said Stradigund. ‘As they say, beggars can’t be choosers!’
Acantha and Stradigund laughed out loud at this and Velhildegildus took up his spoon and pretended in an exaggerated way to dip it into the pot. Acantha smacked him playfully on the wrist with the ladle and he withdrew to lick the gravy from his skin.
Rex watched this little drama with confusion and interest. It was odd to see Acantha so light-hearted; she was like a different person. ‘But that was always your strength,’ he muttered. ‘To appear as one thing but to be another entirely.’ Wasn’t that how she had convinced his father to marry her?
Suddenly the mood changed tangibly. Acantha, by the mere action of taking the ladle in her right hand and supporting the pot at an angle with her left, caused a hush to fall over the table. The diners watched with naked hunger in their eyes as she ladled out generous amounts of the dark meaty stew into each dish. Velhildegildus wiped away a pearl of spittle that had appeared at the corner of his mouth and Stradigund was visibly quivering with anticipation.
Acantha finally dished out her own portion and took her seat. She raised her sparkling glass and with a triumphant smile she proposed a toast. ‘To the members, old and new, of the Society of Andrew Faye,’ she said.
‘Here and now I raise my glass.
Let not this meal be our last.
Let not a portion go astray
Raise your glass to Andrew Faye.’
At her signal her companions dipped their spoons and scooped up a mouthful of the deliciously sapid stew.
‘Ah,’ they murmured in unison, and fell to the meal with a voracity that was quite startling to watch. There was something rather obscene about their edacity. It was only a stew! Acantha paused for a moment to speak again.
‘I think it is only proper that I mention our dear friend, Mr Cadmus Chapelizod, at this time. Wherever he is, I am sure he would have wanted us to remember him this way.’
‘Hear, hear,’ they mumbled, and then silence descended over the table again.
Rex couldn’t stand the slurping any longer. He took a final look and retreated to his room.
Rex sat thoughtfully on his bed. Yes, he was disappointed that he had not met Andrew Faye, but he had not come away from the bizarre feast empty-handed; this turn of events, the fact that he was going to the island, was an absolute godsend. Unwittingly Acantha and Dr Velhildegildus had provided the answer to his problems. Now he didn’t have to make his own way to the island – he had an invitation! Rex hugged himself with glee. At last, something was going his way!
Suddenly he realized that he hadn’t locked his door, but when he felt in his pocket for the picklock it wasn’t there. He must have dropped it downstairs. He couldn’t go without it – it was invaluable, and who knows what locked doors he might face in the asylum? So he spent the next two hours listening for sounds that the guests were leaving. But the carousing just got louder and louder. At midnight he lay on his bed. ‘I’ll just close my eyes,’ he murmured. ‘For a few minutes . . .’
Rex woke to the rattle of carriages in the street; Stradigund and Velhildegildus were going. Shortly after came the familiar thudding up the stairs, even slower than usual. He waited until they had passed and then hopped out of bed and retraced his earlier steps by the light of his chamber candle.
He found the picklock on the floor outside the kitchen and when he bent to retrieve it the aroma of the stew tantalized his nose. It seemed to have matured over the hours and was now quite literally mouth-watering. Rex licked his lips and suddenly he was overcome with hunger. So, against his better judgement, he crept into the kitchen.
In the light of the glowing fire he could see that the table had not been cleared. The plates were clean, almost as if they had been licked. Whatever it was that Acantha had cooked, it must have been very tasty indeed. The pot was still on the table. He tilted it slightly, rupturing the skin on the dark sauce that covered the bottom. Unable to stop himself, Rex dipped his finger in and scooped up a thick meaty globule. It was without doubt the finest, richest stew he had ever tasted.
And then he bit down painfully on something very hard. He cursed. A piece of bone he thought, and he spat out a small lump of meat into his hand, but before he could examine it a gruff voice took him by surprise.
‘Looking for something?’
Rex jumped and turned around, slipping the bone into his pocket. Acantha was standing at the end of the table, her bloated face flushed and greasy, her lips dark red.
‘How did you get down here?’ She didn’t give him time to answer. ‘No matter. You’ll be gone tomorrow. To where you belong, Droprock Island! Dr Velhildegildus is going to sort you out for once and for all. And when you get back, then you’re going to Reform School.’
Rex could smell her. She stank of meat and wine. ‘Anywhere’s better than here,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘There’s gravy on your chin,’ said Acantha with mock concern. ‘Your father liked my stew too.’
Rex snarled and pushed past her. But all the way up the stairs he could hear her laughter.
24
The New Superintendent
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 Re
x 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.
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