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
Settling In
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 b
ed, 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.’
Hildred put the burnt book down. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and changed the subject. ‘I heard that there are haunted catacombs beneath the asylum.’
‘Dunno about ghosts,’ said Mrs Runcible with a shrug, ‘but there’s certainly a maze of tunnels,’ and that was about as much as she would say. Hildred got the distinct feeling that Mrs Runcible preferred not to think about the past. She had then volunteered to make a start on clearing up the mess from the fire and Mrs Runcible retreated happily to the kitchen where she was generally perfectly content among her pots and pans.
When Dr Velhildegildus had finally arrived he came down during the course of the day to the kitchen to meet Mrs Runcible. Hildred noticed how she and Walter, but not so much Gerulphus, seemed to latch on to every word he said and were visibly relieved when the doctor said that he had no intention of interfering in their business. Hildred thought him an interesting character. Certainly his face was unusual but she felt disinclined to have much to do with him.
So tonight she lay on her bed and considered her new life. It was a pleasant introduction to the world of normal folk, folk who didn’t have to earn their living from their freakishness. If she was completely honest with herself, it had not been as easy as she made out to leave the Panopticon, and more than once in the last few days she had wished with all her heart to be back among her family.
‘Sometimes it’s important to try things that scare you,’ Mr Ephcott had said, and Hildred knew that he was right. Well, this isn’t too scary, she thought, and it is only temporary.
And then she pulled on her cloak, took a small lamp and went off into the night to explore further the recesses of her new home.
There was a boy arriving the next day and he might well interfere with her plans.
26
A Proposition
Rex stood on the jetty and watched as Walter Freakley rowed his boat towards him. Its silent motion barely caused the water to stir, as if it was on a great lake of dark treacle, and only if he listened very hard could Rex hear the soft lap of the water. There was a small bag at his feet containing clothes and his precious book. In one pocket he had the diamond and his picklock, in the other his little brazen egg.
‘Ahoy, there,’ called out Walter over his shoulder. He approached the jetty in a series of rather awkward manoeuvrings, bumping heavily against a post and causing the flimsy structure to shudder violently. Rex was both unsteadied and unnerved at his unusual technique. After all, he was going to have to cross to the island in this man’s care. Walter flung a rope out, which Rex caught and looped over the post.
Walter grinned and his face crumpled as if it was collapsing in on itself. ‘Are you young Rex Grammaticus, coming over to the asylum?’
‘I am,’ said Rex.
‘Not afeared, are you?’
Rex shook his head. ‘Not at all, it will be a relief to get away from the town.’
Walter didn’t question this. He took Rex’s bag, and then Rex climbed in and they set off across the dark water.
‘What brings you to the island?’ asked Walter.
‘I have been told I am to work with Dr Velhildegildus,’ replied Rex. ‘But I am not sure what it is exactly that he wishes me to do.’
‘Probably to help out in the kitchen with Hildred.’
‘Hildred?’
‘Young girl, works with Mrs Runcible the cook,’ said Walter. ‘About your age, she is. She’ll be glad enough to see you.’
‘Oh,’ said Rex. He had not thought who else might be there. Then he asked, ‘How long have you been the ferryman?’
Walter smiled. ‘Oh, long enough,’ he said. ‘But it’s not as easy as it looks, you know.’ He changed the subject. ‘I met your father once,’ he said. ‘Seemed a nice enough chap.’
‘Did he say anything about me?’
‘He did. Very proud of you he was.’
‘But did you think he was mad?’ pressed Rex.
Walter frowned and shook his head. ‘Your father, ’e was different, certainly he was troubled, but I don’t know if he was as mad as they made out.’
‘I don’t believe he was mad,’ said Rex. ‘Did he tell you about his hand?’
‘The hook? Yes, told us ’ow ’e’d lost it in an engineering accident.’
Rex sighed and rested his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. He looked down at his feet and saw something on the bottom of the boat. He picked it up.
‘Careful, lad,’ warned Walter. ‘It’s as sharp as a cutthroat.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s a tooth, from the monster in the lake; you find them on the shore occasionally.’
‘You mean there really is something there?’
‘Oh, most definitely there is,’ said Walter, and he began to whistle.
Rex was in no doubt that Walter believed the creature existed. It certainly looked like a tooth, triangular in shape and yellowing, and very large indeed. Freakley continued to whistle and Rex was almost certain he could hear someone whistling back. A trick of the night, he thought, but before he could say anything else there was a violent jolt. They had reached Droprock Island.
Rex followed Freakley carefully, counting the steps – one hundred and fifteen in all. He thought again of his idea about the elevating machine. By the time they reached the top Rex was wet from the mist and feeling the cold. He shivered and looked up. The asylum stood silently before him, filling his field of vision. Enveloped as it was in the mist, it looked even more unearthly than he could have imagined. Dread washed over him. This was the place wherein his father had lived out his final days. The sight evoked in him a mixed reaction: great sadness; a sense that some of his journey was over; and mounting horror as he relived in his mind that terrible night back in Opum Oppidulum. Rex touched his head. He could still feel a slight ridge where he had cut it on the shingle. He made a great effort to put the dark thoughts from his mind. He was here with a pu
rpose: to prove that his father wasn’t mad and that Acantha was, at the very least, a common thief and at worst a treacherous murderer.
Don’t fly too close to the sun or on your head be it, thought Rex. From constant repetition, his father’s words had begun to run together.
Walter led Rex up to the formidable double doors just as a tall, pale, freakishly thin fellow came out.
‘Master Rex,’ he said. ‘Dr Velhildegildus is waiting for you.’
Walter bade Rex goodbye. ‘Gerulphus here’ll look after you,’ he said, and crossed the hall to disappear through a narrow archway.
Rex followed Gerulphus, all the while marvelling at how wan and emaciated the man was, in the opposite direction. Unnaturally sensitive these days to its odour, Rex thought he could smell fish. They passed under a wider archway and travelled down a long carpeted corridor. There were pictures on the walls, landscapes and portraits, and the rug underfoot was of good quality.
Perhaps it wasn’t so bad for Father after all, thought Rex, and he felt a little better.
Gerulphus walked on, unsmiling – he rarely smiled, as Rex was soon to discover – and he said as little as he could get away with. Finally they came to a halt outside Dr Velhildegildus’s study.
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