The Singular & Extraordinary Tale of Mirror & Goliath: From the Peculiar Adventures of John Lovehart, Esq., Volume 1 (Notebooks of John Loveheart, E) by Ishbelle Bee Page B
Authors: Ishbelle Bee
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I pulled out my little silver pistol and shot him in the head. “Blah blah blah. You’re boring me.”
A black cat with jewel-like eyes watched me from the cabinet, yawning. I picked her up to take her home with me. I thought the ribbon round her neck was quite charming.
W hen I stepped into the street, a small boy was staring at me.
“Mr Loveheart?’ he said.
“ Yes? ” I replied, stroking the cat, “And you are?”
“Death.”
“ Ah, I see. ” I was intrigued.
“I have been watching you with interest, Mr Loveheart.”
“I suppose I am interesting. Is there anything I can help you with? Directions perhaps? Are you lost?”
“Are you an angel or a devil?” and his voice sent ripples of electricity through the night air.
“I haven’t decided yet.” And I wandered off down the grim little alley, whistling.
IV: October 1887
Grandfather’s Dying wish & Dr Cherrytree
I arrived at the asylum at exactly a quarter past two. A row of fat pigeons sat on the wall, overlooking my arrival, suspiciously. The gates were spiked iron, both gloomy and menacing, encircling the building like the tail of a great dragon, the paving stones underneath wet with a slime trail. The warden’s name was Fuggle and he had wooden teeth, something I hadn’t seen for quite a while. It amused me.
I introduced myself. “Doctor Edmund Cherrytree. I’ve come to see Ernest Merryworth.”
The warden looked me up and down. “Oh, the doctor. You’re doing a study. I remember your letter.”
“Yes, actually I am a psychoanalyst. I have come to examine his behaviour. I am writing a book on the criminally insane.”
Fuggle laughed, his wooden teeth slipping about. “You’ve come to the right place.” He escorted me down a deep, long, white corridor, jingling his keys by his side. “He’s been as good as gold, doctor, since he got the bad news.”
“Bad news?”
“He’s dying. Got a month or so left. Something wrong with his heart.” And Fuggle laughed.
“What’s so amusing?”
“His heart. Of course there’s something wrong with it. He’s a bad sort. You know what he did to his granddaughters.” Fuggle looked at me sideways and continued, “Killed two of them and stuffed the other one in a clock.”
“Man is capable of redemption, Mr Fuggle.”
Mr Fuggle taps his nose. “I’ve seen it all. The very worst of man. Angels can forgive him, Doctor Cherrytree. I won’t.”
We arrived outside the cell of Mr Merryworth. Mr Fuggle opened the door with a little key. Ernest sat by the window reading, and he turned towards me, so I could see the front cover of the book. It was about clock making.
Fuggle coughed into his hand. “Well, I will leave you both to it. I will be outside if you need anything. Just shout.”
“Thank you,” I said, and stared over at Ernest. “I believe you have been expecting me?”
“I got your letter.” His voice was croaky. He was a withered old man. His cell had a small bed and a chamber pot, a desk and chair. The only other item in the room was the book in his hands. “I’m dying.”
“Yes, I’m aware, and I may be able to help you with that. For a price.”
“What do you want?”
“I need to know where your granddaughter is. The one who survived. The one you locked in the clock. If you tell me this I can extend your life.”
Ernest put the book down. “That’s a very tempting offer. And why is my granddaughter so important to you, eh? Do you like little girls, doctor? Do you like to play with them?”
“No. But you certainly do. Where is she?”
“A policeman took her. Adopted her. The last I heard they had gone to Cairo.”
“What is this policeman’s name?”
“Goliath Honey-Flower. He’s Egyptian. Huge bugger. He saved her. Pulled her out of the clock.”
“Thank you.”
“And now will you help me? Will you give me more time, doctor?” and he rested his hand on the book.
“I will send you something in the post, Ernest.
I pulled out my little silver pistol and shot him in the head. “Blah blah blah. You’re boring me.”
A black cat with jewel-like eyes watched me from the cabinet, yawning. I picked her up to take her home with me. I thought the ribbon round her neck was quite charming.
W hen I stepped into the street, a small boy was staring at me.
“Mr Loveheart?’ he said.
“ Yes? ” I replied, stroking the cat, “And you are?”
“Death.”
“ Ah, I see. ” I was intrigued.
“I have been watching you with interest, Mr Loveheart.”
“I suppose I am interesting. Is there anything I can help you with? Directions perhaps? Are you lost?”
“Are you an angel or a devil?” and his voice sent ripples of electricity through the night air.
“I haven’t decided yet.” And I wandered off down the grim little alley, whistling.
IV: October 1887
Grandfather’s Dying wish & Dr Cherrytree
I arrived at the asylum at exactly a quarter past two. A row of fat pigeons sat on the wall, overlooking my arrival, suspiciously. The gates were spiked iron, both gloomy and menacing, encircling the building like the tail of a great dragon, the paving stones underneath wet with a slime trail. The warden’s name was Fuggle and he had wooden teeth, something I hadn’t seen for quite a while. It amused me.
I introduced myself. “Doctor Edmund Cherrytree. I’ve come to see Ernest Merryworth.”
The warden looked me up and down. “Oh, the doctor. You’re doing a study. I remember your letter.”
“Yes, actually I am a psychoanalyst. I have come to examine his behaviour. I am writing a book on the criminally insane.”
Fuggle laughed, his wooden teeth slipping about. “You’ve come to the right place.” He escorted me down a deep, long, white corridor, jingling his keys by his side. “He’s been as good as gold, doctor, since he got the bad news.”
“Bad news?”
“He’s dying. Got a month or so left. Something wrong with his heart.” And Fuggle laughed.
“What’s so amusing?”
“His heart. Of course there’s something wrong with it. He’s a bad sort. You know what he did to his granddaughters.” Fuggle looked at me sideways and continued, “Killed two of them and stuffed the other one in a clock.”
“Man is capable of redemption, Mr Fuggle.”
Mr Fuggle taps his nose. “I’ve seen it all. The very worst of man. Angels can forgive him, Doctor Cherrytree. I won’t.”
We arrived outside the cell of Mr Merryworth. Mr Fuggle opened the door with a little key. Ernest sat by the window reading, and he turned towards me, so I could see the front cover of the book. It was about clock making.
Fuggle coughed into his hand. “Well, I will leave you both to it. I will be outside if you need anything. Just shout.”
“Thank you,” I said, and stared over at Ernest. “I believe you have been expecting me?”
“I got your letter.” His voice was croaky. He was a withered old man. His cell had a small bed and a chamber pot, a desk and chair. The only other item in the room was the book in his hands. “I’m dying.”
“Yes, I’m aware, and I may be able to help you with that. For a price.”
“What do you want?”
“I need to know where your granddaughter is. The one who survived. The one you locked in the clock. If you tell me this I can extend your life.”
Ernest put the book down. “That’s a very tempting offer. And why is my granddaughter so important to you, eh? Do you like little girls, doctor? Do you like to play with them?”
“No. But you certainly do. Where is she?”
“A policeman took her. Adopted her. The last I heard they had gone to Cairo.”
“What is this policeman’s name?”
“Goliath Honey-Flower. He’s Egyptian. Huge bugger. He saved her. Pulled her out of the clock.”
“Thank you.”
“And now will you help me? Will you give me more time, doctor?” and he rested his hand on the book.
“I will send you something in the post, Ernest.
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