They were in the newspaper room, and Arthur walked straight over to the huge ledgers on the shelves. Pulling one down, he tottered across the room with it, and Harry saw that it contained bound copies of newspapers. He ran across to the shelves too and pulled down more ledgers, slamming them onto the table next to Arthur. Dust billowed, but Arthur could just be seen opening the ledgers, flicking through the pages, scanning the endless columns of print. Sliding out the leather notebook, he placed it open on the table and started making notes on it with his fountain pen.
“Anything to do with Monticelso, that’s what we need. Particularly stuff about his kind, charitable deeds. Madame Melrose said they want people whom the mayor’s helped to come and see him, didn’t she? Wish him well, stir happy memories? It’s just a question of who those people are going to be… Bother this pen!” He held up the pen, which was dribbling ink. “It’s been leaking more and more ever since we got here. I’m wondering if it’s the humidity. An increase in atmospheric pressure can have that effect, apparently.” He turned back to the newspaper. “Anyway, let’s see—ah!”
Harry and Billie leaned over Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur’s finger was planted directly by an article halfway down a page, and he was reading it through while his free hand made more spattering, purple notes.
“Yesterday, here in Biloxi Valley, Mayor Monticelso of New Orleans made another visit to the Tobermory Swamp School, a school for orphaned children from the impoverished area. Sounds promising…” The finger tapped the page. “Presenting a check from city funds, he spoke of how continued support for the children at the school was vitally needed. Right, that’ll do. I think we can pass ourselves off as orphans from a swamp, can’t we?”
Harry looked at Billie. She was looking at him too, and he saw the smile on her face. Together they turned and studied their friend, standing before them in his neatly tailored tweed suit.
“What?” Arthur asked.
“We’ll sort you out,” said Harry.
Ten minutes later, back in the New Orleans sun, the door of a junk shop slammed behind them. Arthur walked to the window of the shop next door and adjusted his new clothes, a pair of worn-out trousers and a mold-covered jacket. He slid his notebook and pen into a frayed pocket, and Harry handed him a knapsack with his tweed suit stuffed inside. Billie bent over the gutter, lifted up a handful of mud, and gave Arthur’s trousers a few smears.
“We’re not just street kids, we’re swamp kids. Meant to have walked all the way in from Biloxi too, which would mean crossing a marsh or two.” She gave herself a smear too. “Got to look the part. Reminds me of the time I actually did get lost in a swamp, the Okefenokee Swamp, out Georgia way. Nasty boggy place, and then there were the alligators too—”
Harry chuckled. It had been some time, by Billie’s standards, since she had last told them one of her tales of the road, and it was good to hear her chattering away again. He listened to her as she led them along another street with iron balconies and hanging baskets of blooms. Harry breathed in the rich perfume of the flowers and followed her around the corner. Then he realized Billie had stopped talking. He looked up ahead and saw why.
Ahead of them was the city hall. And marching toward it, just a few feet away from them, was Oscar Dupont.
He was heading toward the crowd. It was even bigger than the day before, gathered around the city hall steps. For the moment, it seemed calm, and Harry wondered if it perhaps had just returned to wish the mayor well. But it won’t be calm for long, he thought as he watched Oscar Dupont march toward it. Assistants hurried behind the politician, and he carried under his arm a sheaf of papers, on which Harry glimpsed scribbled handwriting. Another speech. He saw that Dupont’s mouth was twitching, shaping the words he intended to deliver, and up on his bald head, a pulse twitched too as he quickened his pace.
And marched straight into Billie, who had thrown herself into his path.
“Don’t you dare say that stuff again! Lies! It’s nothing but lies!”
“Billie!” Harry grabbed her arm and hissed in her ear. “We’re meant to be pretending to be swamp kids, remember?”
He tried to pull her back. Getting into the city hall, that’s all that matters for now. But it was too late. Oscar Dupont had stopped and was studying Billie, and Harry and Arthur too. Not a trace of surprise could be seen on his face, despite the loudness of Billie’s cry.
“Lies, young lady? A serious accusation. One that I firmly refute.” He lifted an arm and pointed at the crowd. “And a great many would agree with me.”
“Only because you’ve whipped them up! Got them in a frenzy!”
“More accusations, and again, I refute them. I have used only the most reasoned argument when discussing this matter.” Oscar Dupont smiled. “I shall go further—without my speeches, without these opportunities to discuss this business peacefully, I believe the folk of New Orleans would be forced to express themselves in far more violent ways. Although I warn you—if the council continues to refuse to listen to my reasoned arguments, there could well be violence anyway…”
Billie lunged forward. Harry pulled her back again, but already he could see several faces in the crowd turning toward them and noticing what was going on. Get her away.
“Young lady, perhaps you should stay and hear me speak? You might understand better then.” Dupont looked Billie up and down. “You would be entirely welcome, as are all good folk of New Orleans. The folk of Fisherman’s Point, those are the ones we hold responsible for the demon’s curse. No one else has anything to fear in this great city of ours…”
Words poured out of Billie. Harry knew that, because he could feel them spluttering against the palm of his hand, clasped over her mouth. Concentrate on the plan, he told himself as he and Arthur dragged Billie toward the city hall steps.
But he couldn’t stop his own face from twitching with anger as he glanced back at Oscar Dupont, who was laughing, tapping his sheaf of papers, and approaching his crowd.
Chapter 6
The city hall lobby was like the library’s but higher, cooler. Uniformed officials bustled, and several of them turned in the direction of Harry, who sat on a cushioned bench in his mud-smeared clothes. They were wrinkling their noses, and Harry wondered if the plan to make themselves as dirty as possible had gone a little too far, but then he glanced across to the reception counter and saw that Arthur was already making progress.
“We’re here from the Tobermory Swamp School… Walked all yesterday through the marsh… We’ve heard about Mayor Monticelso…well-wishers…if it would help…”
Nice work. He was even doing a good job at changing his voice so it sounded more like Billie’s, with its drawls and twangs, rather than his own clipped English accent. Satisfied, Harry turned back to Billie, who was pacing up and down, her fists clenched tightly by her sides.
“Sorry about losing it, Harry.” She mumbled the words out through gritted teeth. “It’s just when I saw him, about to say all those things again…”
“Don’t worry.” Harry kept his voice calm and quiet. “We’ll stop Dupont, just you see. But we need to follow the plan we’ve agreed on—get in to see the mayor, discover what we can about this demon curse. And then we’ll investigate.”
“Mais oui, the Tobermory School!”
Harry looked up. Arthur was still waiting at the reception desk, various officials still muttering, but a familiar voice could be heard through an open door behind the counter. Madame Melrose bustled out, addressing the officials who hurried behind her.
“One of the mayor’s favorite causes. I myself have accompanied him there! Children from a school such as that—they are the sort of visitor we require, exactement!”
Her spectacles swung up on their ivory stalk as she inspected Arthur and then swiveled toward Harry and Billie across the hall. She even performed a curtsy, the embroidered hems of her petticoats spreading over the marb
le.
“The goodness of Louisiana’s citizens! Three orphans, journeying through swamp to do what they can for our noble mayor.” She swept toward them. “You come not a moment too soon. Mayor Monticelso grows worse! Whatever help your good wishes may do, whatever happy memories they might stir, we must attempt it at once! Suivez-moi, mes enfants—come!”
Billie, Arthur, and Harry hurried after her. The lady’s dress fluttered, and her sequin-studded shoes flashed as she led them up several flights of stairs and then down a corridor. Doors and windows flew past. Stairways rose, more corridors slanted at angles. Harry noted each detail as they walked, memorizing it, working out the shape of the huge building through which they were climbing, constructing a map in his mind. Following Madame Melrose up another flight of stairs, he glanced down a corridor and noticed two servants standing by a small wire shutter in the wall. As Harry watched, one of them opened the shutter, and the other carefully loaded a pile of books and ribboned documents into a little lift inside. They closed the shutter, turned a crank in the wall, and the books and documents were winched upward.
A dumbwaiter, thought Harry. He noticed others, positioned on the various corridors and landings he was passing.
“Not a moment too soon, mes enfants!” Madame Melrose crossed to a window and looked down on the square below. Her shoulders sank. “I fear the number of well-wishers has been declining. Many of the people of New Orleans have decided to assist with the situation in more unpleasant ways. Écoutez donc! Just listen to them!”
The window’s panes trembled with the noise outside. Harry looked down four stories below to the crowd on the steps. Cries rose up from it, and jabbing through them, Harry heard the voice of Oscar Dupont addressing the mob, his papers clutched in his hand, words shooting from his tiny mouth at speed. Harry frowned, and he saw that Arthur was frowning too. Further along, Billie’s whole face was clenched, but her lips were sealed shut and she wasn’t saying a word.
“The distress Mayor Monticelso must feel!” Madame Melrose shook her head. “To hear, with what little consciousness he has, the sound of the poor Islanders accused of being behind his affliction! I too know the Islanders; I too have acquainted myself with their customs. To think they would do such a thing, c’est impossible! They are good citizens of New Orleans! As for Oscar Dupont, stirring up such rage…why, that man thinks only of his own rise to power. A seat on the council, that is what he desires.” She pushed away from the window. “This way, mes enfants!”
The journey continued. The noise of the crowd faded as Madame Melrose hurried up a final flight of stairs and then arrived at a carved door, in front of which two officials stood. They bowed and opened the door. Madame Melrose stepped through and went over to a stooped figure clutching a stethoscope.
“Dr. Mincing, how is our patient?”
The doctor seemed even more exhausted than the day before. His gray hair drooped, dark rings circled his eyes, and the stethoscope leaped in his trembling hand. Madame Melrose beckoned toward Harry and his friends. Billie and Arthur took a step forward but stopped, and Harry couldn’t help hesitating too. He had seen something on the other side of the oak-paneled room, just visible beyond Madame Melrose and the doctor.
A shuddering shape. Trussed onto a four poster bed with silken ropes.
“Dr. Mincing agrees that it is worth a try.” Madame Melrose beckoned again. “Mayor Monticelso was most fond of les enfants at the Tobermory Swamp School.”
“I will introduce you. You need to do nothing other than stand at his side.” Dr. Mincing tottered toward the bed. “The chances of it helping are slim, but the same applies to any other medical treatment, it seems. Nothing has worked, nothing…” He looked pointedly toward an oil painting on the wall. “You seem nervous. May I suggest that you prepare yourselves by seeing Mayor Monticelso as he once was? It may console you...before seeing how he has changed.”
Harry walked over to the painting of an elderly man with a kindly gleam in his eyes. Ermine-lined robes were draped around his frame, a golden chain hung from his shoulders, and yet it was the gentle face that shone most clearly out of the painting. Harry looked up at it for quite some time and then felt Dr. Mincing’s hand tugging at his arm. He turned. A cold wave swept through him. He walked over to the quaking bed.
“As I say,” whispered Dr. Mincing, “he is somewhat changed.”
The mayor’s face shook all over. A taut rope ran across the forehead, holding it still, but nothing could be done about the face itself, a quivering blur. Harry wondered if there was a single muscle in it that wasn’t struggling. The lips were arched, flecks of sweat raced over the skin, and worst of all were Mayor Monticelso’s eyes, stretched wide with fear. Further down, his mouth was wide open too, but with only hoarse gasps coming out. Harry tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. A real demon curse—staring down at this face, it seemed entirely possible.
“Ne craignez rien, mes enfants.” Madame Melrose stood across the bed. “Do not be afraid, I mean. We wish your presence to reassure our mayor, to remind him of the good he has done, of the affection with which he is regarded. To surround him with frightened faces will not do. Am I not right, Dr. Mincing?”
“Certainly. Further pictures of terror are the last thing the patient needs.” Dr. Mincing pushed his stethoscope between the buttons of the mayor’s shirt. “Mayor Monticelso? We have visitors for you. Children from the Tobermory Swamp School, do you recall? They have come to wish you well.”
The ropes groaned. All down the bed, ropes crisscrossed the mayor’s body, and they were under great strain, holding him still. Harry looked back at the face and saw, fleetingly, a flicker of the kindly expression in the painting cross those terrified features. Mayor Monticelso’s lips arched, shaping a word. Harry leaned close, trying to hear it, but it was gone, and the old man’s face had been taken over by shaking again, his eyes bulging as if trying to struggle free, only to sink back again.
“Lost utterly in his torment!” Dr. Mincing lifted away the stethoscope, which shook almost as violently as the ropes on the bed. “Yet another technique of modern medicine has failed!”
“And if Dr. Mincing cannot help him, who can?” Madame Melrose dropped into a chair. “He is the most experienced of doctors, mes enfants. For years he has traveled around, researching every disease of the mind, have you not, Doctor?”
“Indeed I have,” said the doctor. “I have studied in hospitals all over the world. I have undertaken dangerous field trips. Why, I have even ventured into the jungles of Costa Rica in search of rare medicines for the mind. But in all my years of study, I have never seen a patient in the grip of a condition quite so cruel. It really is as if some demonic force has made its home within his mind and is devouring it from within—although such a thing is medically unheard of, naturally.”
“For such a good man to be trapped in this evil condition—intolerable!” Madame Melrose indicated a door, ajar but with a red ribbon tied across it. “Why, even at the very moment of the attack, he was engaged in charitable acts. He was through there, in his office. Attending to the paperwork concerning his noble endeavors and—”
“Who found him?” Harry asked. He was still unsteady from the terrible sight, but he managed to adjust his angle and peer through the door into the office. He made out scattered papers, a desk, and, just visible, the edge of a wire-grille shutter on a wall.
“Clerks heard the cries from down the corridor. I was here within minutes, followed by the other councilors. We saw him collapsed behind his desk, in the grip of this terrible fit, the papers of his good work thrown into the air by his convulsions.” Madame Melrose shook her head. “A fearful scene, and one that largely remains. The New Orleans police wish to inspect it again, but what will they discover that has not been discovered before? There is no medical explanation for this condition, and there is no other explanation for it either. C’est un mystère!”
; “A mystery, Madame Melrose means. And one that will be with us for some time.” Dr. Mincing wound the stethoscope in his hands. “I observe no change at all in the patient. Even if he does awaken, his mind may have been irreparably damaged after enduring such agonies. Worse, he might simply remain in this state, a perpetual victim of appalling suffering.”
The body strained against the ropes; Mayor Monticelso’s face blurred into even more agonized shapes. Dr. Mincing unwound his stethoscope again, but his hands shook so much that it writhed like a tormented snake. He threw himself over the patient.
“The cruelty of this torment! Madame Melrose, our words have stirred his horrors into even more terrible life!”
“The very opposite of our intention!”
“Thank goodness that it is time for his daily treatment. The one thing that seems to calm him a little, here and at the hospital—a steam bath.”
“Are the orderlies ready to take him down?”
“They will be here presently, with the wheelchair and more ropes. I impressed upon them the importance of punctuality.”
“Then leave us, mes enfants!” Madame Melrose pushed Harry and his friends across the room. “I too must depart—indeed I am already late. I have a vital meeting with the Islanders.”
“The Islanders?” Billie asked.
“To discuss how best to protect them at this terrible time. But I fear little can be done. Just as little has been done here. Forgive us, mes enfants!” She gave them a final push out into the corridor. “Find your way down to the lobby—a clerk awaits you there.”
The door slammed shut. Harry’s mouth was still dry, and he made himself swallow. He walked along the corridor and down some stairs with his friends. Arthur brushed against him, and he saw that his friend’s hands were unsteady as he fished his notebook and pen from his pocket, trying to make a few notes, the results even more splattering. But it was Billie who seemed truly disturbed.
The Demon Curse Page 5
