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“What happened?”
“As the days passed, I was stricken by terror, not only of him,but also of the things I began to see hiding amid the rocks andundergrowth.”
“What things?”
“I am embarrassed to say. You must understand, monsieur, thatthey were not real. I was suffering from visions caused by aninsufficiency of oxygen.”
“It's important, Sir Roger. What did you see?”
“I saw fairies, tiny people with the wings of moths,butterflies, and dragonflies. I saw them in broad daylight, and atnight they came to me in my dreams. I know now that I was goinginsane. Certainly, Castro was, for one night, he tried to murderme. He struck me on the head and laid me on a rock. It would serveas an altar, he said. He then took a knife and went to thrust itinto my heart. I rolled from the rock and we fought. He was savage,a wild beast, his eyes were filled with madness. I pushed him. Hefell and cracked his skull. The blow killed him.
“The little people had gathered to watch our conflict. Theyterrified me, and I think, monsieur, that the fear broke my mind. Iremember little else until, one day, I became aware that I was inan asylum. They called me Tomas Castro. It seems I had taken myvictim's name. I protested that I was an English gentleman but theywould not believe me. I was trapped in a nightmare and my sanitywas a frail thing. I am sure it failed me again and again. The timeI spent in that hell-it-it-”
Tichborne bent and was wracked by a great sob that shook himfrom head to toe. Burton held tight to the man's shoulder.
“Sir Roger, your suffering is coming to an end, I give you myword. You must hold yourself together for just a little whilelonger.”
“I-I apologise, Monsieur Burton. I am weak. If you had-if-”
“I understand. Pray finish your account.”
“That woman-” he nodded toward Florence Nightingale, where shestood, blank-eyed “-came to the asylum one day, sedated me, andtook me away. I was brought to this place. How long I have beenhere, I do not know. I have seen no one but her, a Russian bitch,and a lunatic named Kenealy.”
“And these latter two, what did they want of you?”
“The diamond! Always the diamond! I said to them again andagain: ‘There is no diamond, it is a myth! The story is as absurdas the legendary Tichborne curse!’ So then they wanted to know allabout that, and I told them of Roger de Tichborne and Lady Mabellaand the Tichborne dole, and then-and then-”
“Yes?”
“Then they took me into a room, strapped me to a table, andsedated me. In my last moments of consciousness, I saw her, theco
“I am sorry,” Burton said. “They have kept you prisoner heresince then?”
“Yes, but that is not all. They visit me frequently and askalways about my life and my habits. They want to know everything!Every detail! On and on! Questions! Questions! Questions!”
“It is because they have a man masquerading as you,” Burtonrevealed.
“They have-what? Why?”
“Their scheme is elaborate and I'm still unsure of the ultimatemotive. I shall find out, though, you can be sure of that. I willstop them, Sir Roger, and soon. When I do, you will be liberatedfrom this frightful place. Until then, you must remain here andkeep this visit of mine a secret. Can I trust you to do that?”
“Yes. Me, you can trust-but her?”
“I am going to bring Nurse Nightingale out of her trance now. Iwill reveal the truth to her. I believe she will work with us tosecure your freedom. She's a strange woman; her dedication tomedical research has driven her into ethically dubious territory inrecent years, but no one can forget what she did during and afterthe Crimea. I believe that, at heart, she desires only the greatergood.”
“I will trust your judgement, Monsieur Burton. But you ca
“If I do so, your enemies will know that I'm moving againstthem. They may flee before we ever learn their intentions. It'sbetter that they remain in the dark.”
“So you wish me to stay? Truly, I don't know that I can! If Iallow myself to believe that liberation is close at hand, everyextra moment in this hell will seem an eternity. But no, no, Iunderstand your reasoning. Stay, I must-and stay, I shall! Whatmatters a few more days or weeks after all this time?”
“Good man. I must hurry now. I've already been away for toolong.”
He stood and paced over to Florence Nightingale.
“You have listened to this discussion?”
“Yes,” she replied dully.
“I am going to take you through some breathing exercises. Theywill bring you to full awareness. You will remembereverything.”
“Ah, Mr. Cribbins, at last. You've taken a deuce of a- ugh!-time!”
“My apologies, Doctor Monroe, I became fascinated by one of yourunfortunates. Patient 1036 on corridor nine.”
“1036? 1036? Which one is that?”
“The gentleman who ate his mother.”
“Oh, yes. A fascinating study. We tested an interesting therapyon that one. We- ugh! -introduced him to another of our patients. Amother who ate her son.”
“And what happened?”
“They had di
“Are you serious?”
“There were doctors in attendance, of course.”
Damien Burke stepped forward. “A most intriguing scenario,Doctor Monroe, but I feel we've already taken up far too much ofyour valuable time. We should be going, isn't that right, Mr.Skylark?”
“Absolutely correct, Mr. Faithfull. Do you agree, Mr.Cribbins?”
“Indeed! Indeed! My apologies, Doctor Monroe, and thank you verymuch indeed for allowing us to tour your fine establishment. Ithink it fair to say that it has made an indelible impression onall three of us.”
Monroe smiled and shook Burton's hand, then Burke's, thenHare's.
They proceeded down to the lobby and out onto the front steps.Monroe bade them a final farewell and indicated a horse-drawncarriage waiting on the driveway. “This will take you across thegrounds to the main- Ugh! ”
“Gate,” Burton finished.
Monroe blinked at him, pursed his lips, turned, and disappearedback into the hospital.
The king's agent looked at the sky and frowned. The atmospherewas thick and steamy, and through it, ugly smudges of smoke couldbe seen drifting raggedly overhead. Flakes of ash were falling.
“It's been a while since we had a London particular,” hemuttered.
They climbed into the carriage and, a couple of minutes later,arrived at the big main gate, in which a smaller door was set.
They thanked the driver and tipped their hats to the guard whoopened the door for them.
Sir Richard Francis Burton, Damien Burke, and Gregory Harestepped out of the mental asylum into- madness!
L ondon was ablaze.
At ground level, the smoke was suffocating. Hellish red andorange light flared through the swirling clouds.
“What the-”
Burton was cut off by a scream of fury. A man came tearing outof the murk, dressed only in trousers and boots, his naked upperbody smeared with blood, sweat, and soot. His face was contortedwith animal ferocity, and before they could react, he swung apitchfork with vicious force into Damien Burke's upper leftarm.
Burke fell sideways with a yell of pain.
Gregory Hare jumped onto the back of the attacker, snatched thepitchfork out of his hand and threw it aside, wrapped a hugeforearm around the man's neck, and squeezed. Seconds later, he waslowering the limp body to the pavement.
Burton snapped back into himself. The assault had been so suddenand brutal that he'd stood frozen, disassociated.
“Damn it!” he muttered, and joined Hare on his knees at Burke'sside.
“It's bad,” Burke gasped. “Broken.”
“You're losing blood. Hare, give me your cravat. We need to geta tourniquet on him right away. Don't worry, old man,” heencouraged Burke. “We'll have you fixed up in no time.”