The Eyeball Collector (19 page)

‘So this is the odious poacher your husband discofered,’ Bovrik stated in his heavy accent. ‘Shall I arrange for him to be transported to Urbs Umida and thrown in Irongate prison to rot?’

‘I am not a poacher,’ said the young man. ‘I was merely passing through.’

Lady Mandible ignored them both.

‘Young fellow,’ she said instead, ‘I have a proposition for you. I would not wish it said that I do not give a man a fair chance so I have decided that if you can answer this riddle, you may go free. If you cannot . . . the punishment for your crimes will be dire.’

Bovrik raised his eyebrows while Hector took a sharp intake of breath. Had he heard her right? Did she say riddle? Surely not
his
riddle! He watched in disbelief as she handed Bovrik a piece of paper, the very same paper Hector had given Her Ladyship not an hour since.

‘Baron, read it out for us to hear,’ she commanded.

Bovrik sneered at the prisoner. ‘It is My Lady’s wish that you answer this riddle to ensure your freedom.’

‘Very well,’ he replied steadily, getting to his feet. ‘I enjoy a challenge.’

Hector covered his face with his hands.

‘Consider this,’ began Bovrik. ‘A man is trafelling in a land where the people are either liars or truth-tellers. He comes to a fork in the road. He knows that one road leads to poisonous marshes where he will suffer a painful and prolonged death if he breathes in the marsh gases; the other leads to his destination, a beautiful city. There is no sign and he doesn’t know which way to go. He sits at the crossroads and efentually two men come down the road to meet him. One of them is a truth-teller, and one of them is a liar but the trafeller does not know which is which. He is allowed to ask only one question to find the way to go. The trafeller thinks for a moment and then he asks a simple question and soon afterwards he is on his way to the city.

‘The riddle is this,’ said Bovrik with a quick look at Lady Mandible who was listening eagerly, her hands clasping and unclasping, her rings flashing. ‘What was the question and whom did he ask?’

Hector’s heart was in his mouth. If only he had known what Lady Mandible was planning! But flattered by her attention, drawn in by her cold beauty, he had not even asked the riddle’s purpose. Instead, he had taken great pride in making it as complicated as he could. He had been used. And now this innocent man was to suffer. ‘When you run with wolves, you become a wolf,’ he muttered to himself, remembering again his father’s last words. And he felt for the first time a proper twinge of doubt. These thoughts, along with the smug look on Lady Mandible’s face as she enjoyed the power she held in her hands at this moment with her tasteless game, made bile rise in Hector’s throat.

But then the prisoner spoke. ‘The answer is simple, kind sir,’ he said with a small bow laced with a generous amount of sarcasm. He then calmly proceeded to give the correct response.

As he did so, Hector finally realized what was so familiar about this young man:
his voice
. He was the rhyming riddler from the square in Urbs Umida. Hector was aghast. Could he have been following him this whole time, he wondered, as he remembered too the shadowy figure in Pagus Parvus who had seemed to be watching him? Surely he wasn’t that keen for his answer to ‘The Landlord’s Pickle’? What was this fellow up to?

Bovrik reddened in anger as he read the same answer on the paper before him. Hector could barely conceal his relief, despite his wonder at the strange coincidence of his repeated encounters with this riddler. Then he saw Lady Mandible’s face, an impassive mask. Would he be in trouble now?

But when she caught his eye she merely shrugged and said, ‘Interesting. He’s cleverer than I first thought.’ Turning away again she added, ‘Leave the poacher here anyway.’

Hector swallowed a protest. The prisoner obviously did not know so well.

‘But Your Ladyship,’ he said quietly, ‘I answered correctly. You said I should then be allowed to go free.’

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ said Lysandra flippantly as she swept from the room, ‘just because I can.’

Bovrik followed, shooting Hector another dirty look as he passed. Hector glanced desperately at the accused and watched helplessly as, once they had all exited the cell, Bovrik locked the door with obvious delight and stationed the guard there. Would Hector ever be able to uncover the mystery behind this unflappable stranger?

At the bottom of the tower stairs, as Lady Mandible and the Baron walked away from him, a hand grabbed Hector by the shoulder and spun him around. He found himself staring straight into the eyes of Lord Mandible.

‘Hector?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘I have a job for you.’

Baron Bovrik de Vandolin, still chewing on his breakfast, took out his box of eyeballs and set it down on his desk. He opened the lid and his smile widened when he saw what lay within: six staring eyeballs arranged in order of acquisition. The second from last, inset with an emerald, had been purchased using the proceeds of the sale of a small silver plate he had found in a dark corner of a far corridor and the last, jade, by means of a medieval toasting goblet.

‘Only one more,’ thought Bovrik, ‘and the set will be complete.’

He took them out one by one and polished them with a soft cloth before replacing them so they all stared in the same direction. It was a daily ritual. Only then would he decide which to wear. Today he chose the third across. Its pearly pupil would go nicely with his waistcoat. With a swift and practised movement, a duck and a shake of the head, the chosen eyeball was in. He hoped it would please Lady Mandible and now that was more important than ever.

Bovrik sighed deeply when he thought of her and sat heavily in his chair. He clutched the velvet cushion to himself and frowned. He couldn’t deny it any longer: Lady Mandible had changed towards him. He had not failed to notice lately how many messages were relayed to him via that dratted Gerulphus rather than personally. And had she not made her plans for that poacher without involving him at all until the last moment? But what had changed? Surely she could not have found out about his true identity? No, that was impossible. It had to be something else. He had grown used to this life of abundance. Sometimes he actually shivered as he walked Withypitts’ corridors, such was the wondrous effect on him of their luxury. To Bovrik, living at Withypitts Hall was the closest thing to heaven he thought a person could experience on earth. And it was certainly as close to heaven as he would ever get, being bound for hell at the earliest opportunity.

Increasingly, he found himself choosing to ignore his old maxim ‘A good swindler knows when to go’. And now, instead of taking Lady Mandible’s change towards him as proof of his very own saying, he chose instead to seek ways to make himself indispensible and secure his future at the Hall. He went to his desk and withdrew a leaflet from the drawer. He read it through again and laughed. It was something he had come across during a recent foray in the City. To be honest it had repelled him slightly, but now it occurred to him it might be something she would appreciate. The time had come to make use of it. It could only raise him in her estimation. And he had his own plans for the Feast too . . . The truth of it, he had to admit, was there was only one way he could stay forever. If he could just get rid of Lord Mandible, perhaps eventually
he
, Baron Bovrik de Vandolin, could step into his shoes . . .

Excitedly Bovrik snatched up his Jocastar cloak and buried his face in it. Reassured once more as to his baronlike appearance, suddenly everything seemed possible – even the highly improbable!

A very slight noise, a noise he wasn’t supposed to hear, caused Hector to stop what he was doing and to listen. Could he be imagining it? No, there it was again. A fluttering sound. No doubt about it. He could feel his palms moistening. There shouldn’t be any fluttering. It was too early. The Feast wasn’t until tomorrow evening. He put down the mortar and turned around. He walked slowly up and down the trestles, looking for the source of the sound. A movement on the floor of the tank beside him caused him to exclaim loudly, ‘
Tartri flammis!
’

His hands flew up to his mouth as he watched in horror the large butterfly that was flapping around there, disturbing the layers of damp bark and dark earth. He hadn’t noticed it at rest earlier, because its vibrant colours were smeared and acted as camouflage, hiding it in the debris. Its body was large but its wings were horribly malformed, one quite literally torn to shreds, the other a crumpled mess. With fast-beating heart Hector opened the door and reached in to retrieve the struggling creature. It hauled itself painfully on to his palm and sat quietly resting as he withdrew it.

Hector felt both pity and revulsion at the same time. Anxiously he examined the interior of the tank again. This butterfly seemed to be the only one that had hatched out. Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as he had at first thought. This one couldn’t survive though. But even in its agony, it seemed a terrible thing to do to kill it. So Hector hesitated and did not see until too late the shadow that was cast over him like an engulfing monster.

‘What haf you got there?’

Bovrik’s voice caused Hector to half leap out of his skin. He turned quickly and found himself staring directly into the glinting pupil of the fake Baron’s false eye.

Bovrik was mildly surprised at Hector’s reaction. It was rare he saw the boy discomposed in this way. In fact, Hector displayed little emotion around him. He moved closer, a smile of curiosity playing around his mouth. The ends of his moustache twitched.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s . . . it’s a butterfly,’ stammered Hector. Immediately Bovrik’s face darkened and his eyebrows knitted together.

‘A butterfly? Already?’

‘I know,’ said Hector, looking down at the quivering creature. ‘It has come out early.’

‘That much is apparent,’ said Bovrik coldly.

‘It’s injured; it cannot survive.’

‘Are there any others?’

‘No.’

‘Hmm,’ murmured Bovrik, and he walked slowly around the room examining the cocoons. ‘These are different.’ He was standing by the tank in the corner. The cocoons within were smaller and much darker.