The Other Book

by Philip Womack

  His vision cleared. A voice spoke. It was Lady Anne’s. ‘Let’s just put you somewhere where I can look at you for a while. I’ll enlist Doctor Spawforth.’

  Afterwards he could only recall rushing and bustling; he remembered being carried, and a bed, a cool, soft bed; a huddle of concerned faces: they changed, often, sometimes they were recognisable, sometimes Tristram de la Zouche was there, looking down at him; sometimes totally alien faces were ringed round his vision; sometimes his mother and his father were there, and his brothers and sisters; there were doctors, lights, injections and the cold; and then nothing.

  And then he woke up in a strange room. He looked around. It was wide and bright and the curtains were floral-patterned. There were flowers in a bowl filled with light on the table too, but someone had forgotten to replenish the water and they were nearly dead. There was a small television and a video player in the corner, and a stack of new videos. There were no books.

  The window was open. There were bars on it. Edward looked at his watch. It was three o’clock in the afternoon.

  I must have been asleep all night and all morning, he thought.

  He moved to get up. Nothing seemed to be broken or otherwise wrong with him. He went to the window and looked out. He was high up. There was a garden below, which looked a long way away. He shuffled to the door and tried it. It was locked. Edward was trapped.

  Twelve

  A feeling of failure bubbled inside Edward, spilling over into tears, which he managed to stop. He pulled himself together. He had to find a way out, consider the options.

  He looked gloomily around the room again, and sat back down on the bed. He was wearing his own pyjamas and his own washbag was on the table. This made him feel better, somehow. It was good to see things that belonged to him.

  He lay back and stared at the ceiling. There were no cracks in it. The lights were little spotlights, set into small recesses. The room had been painted a calming shade of light blue.

  Someone opened the door, and the peace of the room was disturbed by shouts that seemed very near. A nurse entered and closed the door briskly, and the room was quiet again.

  The nurse was young, with brownish hair. She smiled rogueishly at Edward as she came in. She was carrying a tin tray with a glass and two small white tablets in a little round dish.

  ‘Good afternoon, Edward,’ she said. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said, shortly.

  ‘Very good,’ she said, putting the tray down on a small table.

  ‘Where am I?’ Edward sat up.

  ‘You’re in St Clive’s Hospital,’ said the nurse.

  ‘How long have I been here?’ he asked.

  The nurse sat beside Edward on the bed.

  ‘Two days,’ she said.

  Edward started up violently.

  ‘There’s no need to worry,’ she said.

  ‘Worry! But Lady Anne–I have to stop her!’

  ‘Ssssh, there, it’s all right,’ said the nurse, offering Edward the pills. ‘Why don’t you drink these down and you’ll feel a lot better.’

  Edward looked at her suspiciously. ‘What are they?’

  ‘They’re just something to help you sleep,’ said the nurse. ‘You haven’t been properly diagnosed yet. You’ve been a little overexcited recently. You need a lot of rest, and then you’ll be fine.’

  Taking the pills from her and gulping them down, Edward said, ‘What’s wrong with me?’

  ‘The doctor says you might have temporal lobe epilepsy. He says you had a fit at school. They’re going to run some tests on you. Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it sounds.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s when you have a seizure, and you experience hallucinations–sounds, smells, a feeling of great intensity.’

  Edward slumped back into his pillows. He knew he wasn’t ill. He looked at the nurse, and wondered if he could make her his ally. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Amy,’ said the nurse. ‘You know you’ve been talking a lot in your sleep.’

  ‘What sort of things have I been saying?’ asked Edward.

  ‘Oh, nothing incriminating,’ she said, with a slight lift of her eyebrows. ‘I just wondered who Mandy might be?’ Her nose crinkled slightly, and she gave Edward a sideways look.

  Mandy! thought Edward. She seemed to belong to a different place. He remembered her, the day of the drinks party, laughing and joking in the courtyard. Tangled memories unravelled. The walls of the room around him seemed to be shivering, and Amy’s voice was slowly morphing into Mandy’s, and then it wasn’t Mandy at all, but someone else … and as he slipped away into sleep he heard groans, snatches of wild conversation coming from nearby … His beak claps sidewise, something shouted, and Edward had a vision of a long-haired, cackling creature … and then Amy wasn’t there any more, and neither was the room.

  Edward was in a peaceful forest glade. It was warm and the sunlight filtered through the leaves. The trees were dancing gracefully, and with a smile he recognised that the spirits of the wood were there, and that they were welcoming him. He wandered through the trees, and there in a small clearing was Tristram de la Zouche.

  He was seated on the ground, and he wore his suit of gilded armour. His shapely, well-exercised horse was grazing to one side, its green and gold caparisons jingling softly as it moved. They were embellished with little embroidered ravens.

  ‘Tristram!’ said Edward, and ran to him. ‘I’ve failed you and the line of Merlin … I’ve been captured by Lady Anne!’

  Edward knelt down and stared at the grass, shame burning his cheeks. The knight touched his shoulders.

  ‘Soft, soft, dear sir,’ he said. ‘Rise, my gentle squire.’

  Edward rose up, and stood before him.

  ‘You might think a dolorous thing has happened. You see no end to your suffering. You are languishing in gaol, as many a worshipful knight before you has done. Even Lancelot and the great Gawain were taken prisoner.’

  ‘I wish it was all over.’ Edward’s feelings were coming up from the depths of his mind.

  ‘You should not wish that,’ said Tristram sternly. ‘The Other Book is a part of you and your destiny, and you cannot change that. Remember this–whilst it and its powers are in you, those who seek it cannot use it. Lady Anne …’ He trembled, and smote his fist upon the ground. ‘I curse my descendent! That such ignominy should fall upon so great a house!’

  Edward watched him as he struggled with his anger. When Tristram turned back to Edward, his face was calm.

  ‘It hurts to hold it,’ said Edward quietly.

  ‘If there were not deeper reasons, it would have destroyed you by now.’

  ‘Why does Lady Anne want it?’ asked Edward.

  ‘Because she is of the line. She desires to be as Wentlake de la Zouche. She thinks that he achieved the sublime. She will try to take it from you. Both she and the Reverend will assail you sorely. But you must resist–and fight back, and overcome.’

  ‘Tell me what to do,’ said Edward.

  ‘I wish that I could, gentle child,’ said Tristram. ‘But it is not for me to do so.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because I am only a messenger, as you well know. I have already overstepped the limits of my duties.’

  ‘You saved me and Will, in the dorm?’

  The knight nodded. He said no more.

  ‘Why can’t I stay here?’

  ‘You cannot. Whilst you are in this state, you are dead to the world outside. Your body lies unconscious and vulnerable. If you did remain in this, your dreamworld, too long, then you would perish. You must go back now,’ he said.

  There was noise, rushing, falling. An eternity of nothingness. Pricks of light in a blanket of shadow. Light expanding, filling the void, brightening until …

  Edward was back in bed. It was nearly dark and the curtains were closed. He was alone. There was a clock above the blaring television, in the shape of a cartoon character. Its gl
oved hands were pointing to nine and six. Half past nine. Edward got out of bed and turned the television off. He went to the door and shook the handle. It clicked open. Amy must have left the door unlocked when she had left.

  He slipped out on to a corridor, which stretched far to the left and right, doors exactly like his own at equal intervals. He looked at his door–it was numbered 9E, and his name was written on a card in little black handwriting. There was a smell of soap and disinfectant, but underneath it the smell that nothing can ever get rid of–the smell of sickness, and death.

  The glow of televisions came out from underneath doors, accompanied by disembodied voices. He edged out of the room. High-pitched laughter erupted from very near. A man was walking down the corridor, his hair long, his face like a saint in a painting, but he was making sounds that came from hell, raw, unquenchable groans. Edward shrank into the doorway, and waited till he went past.

  Edward decided to go down the corridor as far as he could, to see if he could find a way out in the morning. He was sure that he could just discharge himself. If he went to the desk and explained that he was perfectly all right, then they’d let him out. They’d see that a mistake had been made. He could phone his parents and they’d come and rescue him.

  There were no signs on the walls, so he did a quick ‘eeny meeny miny mo’ and chose to go left. It was cold, so he moved quickly. He made no sound as he padded down the corridors in his bare feet. He wished that he’d thought to put his slippers on. He went quietly through a pair of doors, and came upon the end of the corridor.

  It opened out into what seemed to be a large common room. There were soft seats around the edges, a bean bag or two. There was a table-football table, at which four people were playing. The lights were thin and fluorescent and there was an ever-present television in a corner of the room. Green plastic chairs had been drawn up in front of it, and a few people were sitting down watching the programme that Edward had just switched off.

  Nobody took any notice of him, so Edward inched down into one of the seats. He felt lonely, unwanted, lost. Come on, he said to himself. Don’t give in now. He put his head in his hands. He could feel the depth of emptiness threatening to drown him. Don’t let her win, he thought.

  ‘Hey, are you all right?’ said someone. Edward looked up. He saw a man with longish, curly brown hair looking down at him. He was wearing a blue and green striped jumper. He looked like he was in his early twenties. He had faint stubble, and staring eyes, a snub nose. He flicked his hair away with an impatient gesture.’Mind if I sit down?’

  Edward sat up, and shrugged. The man sat down. Edward smiled a little at him.

  ‘Now,’ said the man, ‘we can have proper introductions. My name is Tom O’Bedlam.’ Edward laughed quietly, but then stopped when he noticed that Tom looked pained.

  ‘So what’s it like round here?’ he said.

  ‘It’s not too bad, really,’ said Tom. ‘The nurses are all really nice, and all the doctors are mostly cool, except for …’ and he looked around, carefully, before whispering, ‘Dr Spawforth.’

  The name rang a bell with Edward. Slowly, things started to come back to him and he recalled that Lady Anne had said it before he blacked out. So she definitely had something to do with this. He didn’t really want to strike up a conversation with Tom. He was nervous. Escape was paramount.

  ‘Where are you sleeping?’ said Tom conversationally.

  ‘9E,’ said Edward, desperately trying to think of a way out. He didn’t want to come up against this Spawforth if he had anything to do with Lady Anne.

  ‘There’s a weird guy a couple down from you. Got a son that visits him. Very strange. He is, I mean, not the son.’

  No one spoke for a second. More cheers and whoops came from the television area.

  ‘So, you look like the kind of man who could keep a secret,’ said Tom, in a confidential manner.

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ said Edward, irritated.

  ‘If I tell you one, will you tell me one too?’

  Edward looked around the room. There was another set of doors, as well as the one through which he’d come. None of the other residents looked friendly. They were all engrossed in the television.

  ‘What’s your secret, then?’ said Edward, indifferent. Anything to get him off his back.

  Tom spoke in a low, deep voice. Edward felt the lights in the room darken and the television sound quieten. He stiffened, a hare about to spring. Astonished, Edward watched as Tom began to swell, his limbs becoming longer, his whole body becoming larger.

  ‘I am Tom O’Bedlam. I have been here since the beginning, and I will be here at the end. Where there is madness I walk, where there is lunacy I stalk. I am Tom O’Bedlam and this is my house.’

  The lights came up again and Tom was the same size he had been before. Edward got up, swiftly. ‘Well, it was nice to meet you,’ he said, too quickly, his heart beating loudly. ‘I must be going now.’

  ‘Don’t go now,’ said Tom. ‘You promised.’

  The cheering in the room got much louder. Tom O’Bedlam did nothing, but stared at Edward, contemptuously, and then Tom’s face withered; and as if he were a mummy being unwrapped, the folds of skin seemed to fall off, and there, underneath the curls and the brown eyes was the malicious, expressionless face of Mrs Phipps.

  Thirteen

  Edward backed away immediately. The creature raised a hand and he felt himself being dragged slowly towards it. He fought it and fought it, whilst the cheering went on blithely around him, and he was dragged closer and closer to that clammy skin.

  ‘Didn’t you, Pollock. You promised me a secret.’

  Edward could feel the fevered, malodorous breath on his cheek and closed his eyes tightly, not wishing to see what lay in store.

  ‘Edward! Are you all right?’ It was the nurse’s voice. ‘You should get back to bed, now.’

  And where Phipps had been standing there was nothing. ‘OK,’ said Edward. But he didn’t want to go back to bed. There was no telling what he’d find there. He had to find a way out. He waited till Amy had gone out of the room. He was almost frantic.

  He tried the set of doors on the opposite side of the room from where he had come in. They opened out into a wide reception area. He peered round the corner. A nurse was behind the reception desk. He was looking intently at a computer. The room was full of uncomfortable plastic chairs, another flickering television, and brightly coloured, slapdash paintings of things that looked like exploding suns and scorched landscapes. There were double doors to the right of the desk. Edward guessed that they led to the stairs and the lifts. The nurse was so engrossed in what he was doing that Edward wondered briefly if he could sneak out past him and to freedom. The nurse seemed to be playing a computer game, and Edward couldn’t help thinking that that was exactly what he’d do when this was all over.

  He was in his pyjamas, barefoot, he had no money, and didn’t know where St Clive’s was. The repugnance of seeing Mrs Phipps appear under Tom’s friendly face returned to him. He tried to shake it from his mind by thinking about the situation and his plan to escape.

  Even if he could find a taxi, he didn’t have any money; if he phoned the police, they’d bring him straight back here. He wondered also if he could go up to the nurse anyway, and make friends with him. He looked amiable, young. He’d just decided to go up to the desk, when the double doors opened.

  Nurse Amy came in, looking concerned. Her hair was drawn back into a ponytail and she kept fiddling with it. She was followed by Lady Anne and the Reverend Smallwood. Edward pressed back against the wall. They went up to the desk. The nurse looked up from his game, slightly apologetically.

  ‘Hello. What can I do for you?’ he said.

  GAME OVER! said the computer, loudly. GAME OVER! GAME OVER!

  That’s exactly how I feel, thought Edward.

  ‘Aww … sorry,’ said the nurse, pressing something on the keyboard. ‘How can I help you, love?’

  ‘Good evening
,’ said Lady Anne in a steely voice which suggested that she had never been called ‘love’ before, and certainly didn’t expect to be called so by a nurse. ‘We have come to see Edward Pollock. He was admitted to your care two days ago. I am sure you remember him. He came from Oldstone Manor, on my recommendation.’

  ‘Oh yeah, Edward Pollock, sent here on Lady Anne de la Zouche’s recommendation.’ He tapped some keys. ‘It says here that no one except his family is allowed see him. And you’re not his family, are you?’

  ‘I’ve told them they can’t,’ said Amy, interrupting. ‘It’s very late and I’ve just sent Edward back to bed. He’s too tired to see any visitors.’

  Edward thanked her silently.

  ‘I’m sure Edward would love to see us,’ said the Reverend. Edward winced. ‘We’re practically family. I’ve known Edward for years. I am concerned about his spiritual health, and wish to comfort him in his sickness.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lady Anne. ‘And I am a close friend of his family.’

  She’s lying, thought Edward, and willed Amy and the nurse to see through her. But her spell was working.

  ‘I have spoken to Dr Spawforth on the phone,’ said Lady Anne. ‘He said that of course we could see Edward. He was sure that such friends as we are could do nothing but help him.’

  Death to Dr Spawforth, thought Edward.

  The nurse looked at Amy. ‘Is this true?’ he said.

  Amy nodded reluctantly. ‘Yes. Although I’ve told Dr Spawforth that it would be very bad for Edward to have any visitors–any visitors at all, even those close to him. Why, he wouldn’t let his best friend in to see him.’

  Strangore had come. Edward hoped he was feeling guilty about leaving him in the study like that. Some best friend he’d turned out to be.

  ‘Well, the doctor knows his own business,’ said the nurse. ‘What would you like to see him for?’