The Lunatic's Curse (4 page)

Acantha stood up and went to the fire. ‘I have waited a long time . . .’

‘One hundred days to be exact,’ sniggered Chapelizod.

‘ . . . to do this,’ she said, and she tossed the will on to the flames. The three of them watched it burn with undisguised glee.

Rex was also watching but hardly with glee. You grinning demons, he thought bitterly. He fought the urge to leap out at the conniving threesome before him and . . . and what?

I have no power here, he thought. He could have kicked himself. He should have done something sooner. But he just thought – no,
wanted
to think – that his father would come
home. His mistake had been to trust Stradigund. All those times he had patted him on the shoulder and told him not to worry, that he was doing his best, when in fact the duplicitous snake was in on
it too! Acantha’s plan was obvious now – to have Ambrose declared insane and then to take control of all of his wealth. But you could not leave insanity to chance,
so she must have
driven him to madness.

But how? And what vile secret bound these three so that Chapelizod and Stradigund would betray their professions and their oldest friends? So many unanswered questions! With an effort of some
magnitude Rex calmed himself and listened again to the continuing conversation.

‘Well,’ said Stradigund as the charred remnants of the will floated up the chimney, ‘that will put an end to his credibility. You recall, Cadmus, that Ambrose came to me with
that dangerous rumour – a writer for the
Hebdomadal
had told him of some beggar who had a wild story about you.’

‘Pah!’ spat Acantha. ‘You know what I think of beggars, nothing but pests they are.’

‘Perhaps we should suggest the committee employ the services of a pest controller,’ said Chapelizod and laughed longer than was necessary at his own joke.

‘So, Acantha, what of your plan for the boy?’ asked Stradigund. ‘He could cause trouble. He asks questions and is suspicious of you. Is it wise to have him in the
house?’

Acantha pursed her painted lips. ‘For the time being I think he is better off where I can keep an eye on him,’ she said. ‘He’s a cunning little beast. I just want to make
sure he doesn’t know anything he shouldn’t. It would look suspicious to send him off straight away. They say to keep your enemies close after all. As for the future, I have decided to
send him away to the Reform School in Urbs Umida. He has acquired a certain look of defiance. That place will knock it out of him!’

Rex stifled a gasp. No! he thought. The Reform School in Urbs Umida, the most godforsaken city in the land! How then could he possibly free his father? And what of his own future? The Reform
School offered no education, merely a curriculum of violence and fear. This was much, much worse than he had thought.

‘I think we should celebrate with a hearty supper,’ said Acantha. ‘Early next week perhaps, after our committee meeting?’

Stradigund raised his eyebrows. ‘Hearty?’

‘At the very least meaty,’ she replied. ‘What do you think, Cadmus?’

Chapelizod looked surprised. ‘Can you organize it that quickly?’

‘Oh, I believe so,’ said Acantha confidently. ‘My butcher is particularly good. He’ll go out of his way to help me. I’ll have the kitchen girl send him a message to
bring round a nice joint. Something special.’

Stradigund shot a glance at Chapelizod who nodded enthusiastically. Rex, still reeling from Stradigund’s betrayal, was now revolted. It seemed his father’s life was no more important
to this carnivorous trio than their next meal. Was there no limit to their wickedness?

‘Very well. The usual time?’

Acantha nodded.

‘’Tis a pity Ambrose will not be able to make it,’ sniggered Chapelizod.

‘He will be missed,’ chipped in Stradigund.

‘And he
so
liked my cooking,’ smiled Acantha. ‘Let’s have a drink to celebrate? Today has been a long time coming.’

‘Patience is a virtue,’ said Chapelizod with a broad grin. There was a little flash of light and Rex saw that he had acquired a large gold tooth. Acantha rang for the maid who
arrived promptly (she dared not do otherwise), then scuttled away to return with a silver tray upon which sat three glasses and a bottle of red wine.

‘From Fitzbaudly’s,’ smirked Acantha. ‘A ’59 no less.’

Straight from Father’s cellar, thought Rex bitterly. Oh yes, Acantha, you certainly know how to enjoy yourself.

Stradigund did the honours, pouring the ruby liquid into the deep-cut crystal glasses. Acantha held hers up to the light.

‘To us,’ she said, and her eyes sparkled with the crystal. ‘And to the Society of Andrew Faye.’

The others repeated the toast then flung their heads back and took a long draught of the liquid.

‘Now, I must away to catch the boat,’ said Mr Chapelizod, and all three stood to go.

Rex raged silently behind the shelf. He realized that the odd feeling creeping through his veins all the time he watched this vile trine was one of impending doom.

Andrew Faye? he thought. Who on earth could that be?

4

Rex watched as Acantha led Stradigund and Chapelizod from the library. They had nearly finished the bottle and all three were in a merry mood. All his suspicions had finally
been confirmed: Acantha was in league against his father with Stradigund and Chapelizod. Stradigund’s betrayal hurt the most. Rex had trusted him, he had even confided his fears about Acantha
to him, and all the time the lawyer had been plotting against him. Robert had been right: Stradigund and Chapelizod were strong allies. No doubt Acantha will pay them handsomely for helping her,
thought Rex, recalling Chapelizod’s gold tooth with distaste. Maybe I should be grateful that she didn’t just kill Father. He didn’t like to think that perhaps being in the
lunatic asylum might be worse than death.

But that begged the question, why
not
kill him? Firstly, it was not so easy. There was always the small matter of the body, usually the reason murderers didn’t get away with it. Far easier to imprison his father in such a way that no one would hear his protestations. And who would believe the ravings of a lunatic? With Stradigund to advise on legalities, no doubt Acantha
was well aware the law stated that when a man died his wife did not inherit a husband’s wealth; it went first to blood relatives.

And that would be me! thought Rex. So by declaring Ambrose insane she had bypassed the laws of inheritance.

But how could she possibly have known that he was to lose his mind like that?

He kept coming back to the same answer: Acantha had a hand in his father’s breakdown. And, if so, then it was no wonder that Chapelizod and Stradigund had arrived so swiftly that night.
They must have been lying in wait. Chapelizod had declared Ambrose insane within minutes of his arrival, despite barely examining him. As for the Law of a Hundred Days, Stradigund must have dug deep
to find that one.

The whole ghastly scene began to replay itself in Rex’s mind. He hated to think of it; it made him feel physically ill. In an effort to block out the full horror of what he had seen he had
taken to reciting a poem, a piece of doggerel, something he had heard in the town from a travelling bard.

Oh, how I love to wander, wander, wander

Wander, wander along.

And as I go, a-ho-ho-ho,

I always sing this song.

The clock struck the seventh chime of nine as Rex emerged from his hiding place. Too late, he heard Acantha’s elephantine footsteps outside in the hall and before he
could do anything the door opened. He stood frozen on the spot. Acantha was framed in the doorway, her feet planted apart, her face flushed, and she was swaying ever so slightly.

‘Rex,’ she said unusually calmly. ‘I thought I told you to stay in your room.’

‘I know,’ said Rex evenly. ‘But I needed something to read.’ Thinking quickly he held up the book of gases.

Acantha blinked slowly. ‘How long have you been in here?’

‘Oh, not long. I saw you and Mr Stradigund and Mr Chapelizod come out.’

Acantha arched an eyebrow. She looked as if she was about to say something but changed her mind. A self-satisfied expression washed over her hot-cheeked face. ‘Well, perhaps you should
take advantage of the library; there is plenty to learn in here.’

‘Robert teaches me well enough.’

‘Robert? Oh, I have let him go.’

Suddenly Rex knew he could stand it no longer. Her knowing, fleshy, complacent face, her barbed remarks, the way she spoke about his father. Something inside him exploded.

‘You . . . you cruel, foul-smelling witch!’ he shouted and lunged violently at her. ‘I know you sent him there because you wanted him out of the way. I know it!’ He
raised his fists to beat upon her but she grabbed him by the wrists. She was strong, far stronger than he could have anticipated, and her eyes were wild. And there was that smell from her, a smell that she couldn’t disguise with all her
expensive perfumes and waters. And suddenly he knew what it was.

She smelt like an animal.

‘Look at you,’ she hissed, and spit came out of the corners of her mouth. ‘Look what your father did to you.’ She thrust his arm upwards to reveal the scar. It was red
and pulsating from the pressure. ‘You ungrateful wretch.
I
saved you from him. I wonder if I should have bothered. If you’re not careful, lad, you’ll end up with your
father. I’m warning you now. The sooner you’re gone from here, the better.’

Rex pulled away and pushed past her. He tore up the stairs, three at a time, and ran to his room, slamming the door. He threw himself on to the velvet counterpane. He wanted to cry, but he
wouldn’t let himself. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. As he turned, a crackling noise came from under his pillow so he reached in and pulled out a small square of folded paper.
He opened it and recognized immediately Robert’s handwriting. With a sinking heart he read:

My dear Rex,

This is a note written in haste and I apologize for my penmanship – all those times I complained about yours! Acantha has dismissed me. I can only
suppose she wants to hire a tutor of her own choosing. I will not be staying in Opum Oppidulum – Acantha will not give me a reference – so it is doubtful that I will see you
again.

I wanted to wish you luck, Rex. I fear you will need it. And I wanted to tell you not to give up hope. I know that your circumstances are not easy but you
are resourceful and you know the value of perseverance.
Disce pati,
as the saying goes. You are your father’s son, Rex, and I am certain that you can find a way out of your
difficulties. I intend to travel to Urbs Umida, not the most pleasant of places I know, but I should be able to find another position there. You can write to me at the Nimble Finger
Inn until I get settled.

With very best wishes,

Robert

Postscript: I couldn’t leave without saying how good your translation was, about the slave. The verb you were looking for was
compungere,
to ‘prick’ or ‘sting’.

Rex folded the letter and put it in his waistcoat pocket. He knew there was not to be a new tutor. Tears stung his eyes.
Compungere.
He wouldn’t have known
that.

5

A Q
UESTION OF
B
EGGARS