Filed under “Murder” in the Londreg Constables’ evidence archive.
Dear Mother,
Business in Nasendra hardly ever seems like business, with the beauty of the country all around. I wish you could see it. It would do you well.
I’ve spoken with a man here who knows a bit about safe asylums for the maniacal. He assures me that there is one near us in Londreg, where Akalar would be perfectly well and cared for. If you speak to Father about this, I’m sure he’ll agree. This is the best way for him to fulfill the obligation he feels toward the boy. Though I admit, I still don’t understand why he would feel such obligation, unless there is more to Akalar’s origin than meets the eye.
I have more good news as well. There’s a woman here I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, and I would like you to come meet her. Her father is a clockmaker as well, and he has a large estate in Nasendra. I hope we can plan a way for our families to meet soon. It could be good business as well as a pleasant diversion.
I hope to see you soon. Your loving son,
–Theonimus
#
Theonimus,
Thank you for your letter. It warmed my heart to hear from you. I am intrigued to hear about this woman. I’d be glad to meet her, but I doubt I can leave for any extended period of time. Your brother has been suffering even more from his mania than usual. Every night this last week I’ve had to comfort him.
But I’m sure we can arrange a meeting, if you wish. I know I can keep Akalar under control for a pleasant evening. It’s easy enough to sing for him, while I cut his hair and trim his nails. You should see the way his nails have grown.
If you have something you wish to say about your father, it would be best that you said it outright, so I could reject it plainly. I know, though you seem determined to doubt, that he has not been unfaithful to me or to you. Akalar’s presence with us is a testament to his goodwill, not his vice. Don’t let bitterness convince you otherwise.
As for sending Akalar away, neither of us will allow it. We haven’t lost hope with the doctors. You shouldn’t either. Glorious miracles have been done in our past–don’t forget it.
I would write more, but I’m growing too weary to hold the pen! Do your best to avoid age, son. Please return as soon as possible. I love you.
–Mother
#
Dear Mother,
I’m just about to board the steamcar back to Londreg, but I think this letter will travel faster. I’ve heard talk of repairs on the road.
I know you and father both have good intentions and the highest hopes, but I can’t believe you’re being reasonable. If Akalar can’t be cured, then he can’t be cured. You only damage yourselves by keeping him with you. Your weariness isn’t due to age; it’s due to him.
I’ve come to consider our lives like clocks. When tended properly and cared for, according to instructions, they run well. But Akalar’s life is not like a usual clock. It’s a broken one. He does not tick as he should. You may try to raise him up according to plain human standards, but he will never know how to live or love as we do. I’m sure you can sense this yourself. You can convince Father. Please try.
I still think it best if we met with Sylivria at her father’s estate. The beauty of the country ought to complement her own loveliness.
Perhaps I’ll arrive before the letter, but I don’t have much hope for these new roadway workers. Until my return, your loving son,
–Theonimus
#
Dear Mr. Hardick,
I appreciate sincerely your letting me look into the case of your younger son. His is a fascinating, if not an enigmatic one. All my studies of the mind have acquainted me with its unusual ins and outs, its curious strayings by the wayside. Yet in this case, my knowledge fails me. I’m assured that there is an explanation, and if someone can find it out, that will be a momentous feat, worthy of great honor. Would that I could pursue it!
Forgive me if this sounds too bleak. I wish I could deliver some better news to you. But at this point, the only cure that I can conceive of is that which you have discovered already–Carisse’s singing, and his own occasional breaks from the darkness. On the positive side, it is well recorded that many men suffering from a major damage to their minds have grown far more capable in other aspects, whether it be in understanding mathematics, or linguistics, or even in strength. I understand the boy is illiterate. You might attempt to remedy that. Teach him to write or read, if you can. Then perhaps you might at least communicate with him.
Again, I’m sorry. After so many years, I can only imagine what it must feel like to reach the last of us doctors. I’m sorry to say we’re a waning group, too focused on the esoteric workings of the human body. Alas, at times I wish to strike the clockwork advances in their ticking faces!
Forgive me, my friend. I know of nothing else to do. But a man with the money and resources you own may yet uncover a solution. Keep up hope. Sincerely Yours,
–C. Bundish, Medical Doctor and Surgeon,
Private Practice, Londreg
#
Mr. Hardick,
I’ve noticed that you have some outstanding debts that have gone unaddressed for a while now. I don’t understand it. I keep hearing that your business is succeeding quite well. Perhaps you’ve forgotten. In that case, consider this a simple reminder. I’ve attached the outstanding amounts.
But if you haven’t forgotten, let me be clear. No one can forgive debts forever. There must come a time of payment. I don’t need it all at once, only a good sign of your intention to pay it in full. Surely you’ll agree that’s best.
I plan to be in your region of the city soon. Maybe I’ll stop by so we can speak face to face. Until then, best regards.
–S. Beckston, Banker, Londreg
#
Dear Mr. Hardick,
I’m terribly sorry, but at this very moment Dr. Bundish is making his way to Nasendra for the state’s holidays. He won’t be available for two weeks at least. I will refer you to another doctor, and send him a note immediately.
I’m sorry for any trouble this causes.
–Elle D., secretary of
C. Bundish, Medical Doctor and Surgeon,
Private Practice, Londreg
#
Father,
I just received your letter. I wish I could bring myself to believe that you’re joking, but I’ve feared this day for many years.
Could the doctors truly do nothing? Surely they should have told her to sleep more. Surely you should have told her that. Couldn’t you have controlled her? Made her lie back down when Akalar wailed? Did you try?
No, that’s too far. I know, it’s not mine to accuse. But my heart is broken now, in many pieces, and it will cut whoever tries to handle it. Forgive me if I’ve cut you. Perhaps we’d best speak face to face.
I planned to return home before business began in the new year, but now I’m coming as soon as I can. I hope we can make all the proper arrangements quickly. I will see you soon. Your loving son,
–Theonimus
#
Malkus,
Thank you for sending the parts I requested. It’s a comfort to receive them so quickly, and I’ll take whatever comfort I can. You know with Carisse’s death, I’ve been grieving, while Akalar has been uncontrollable at times. He’s ripped apart much of the house, attacking many of the paintings I had of her. I’ve salvaged what I can and hidden it away, but it seems he’s on a constant search. Sometimes he reminds me more of an animal–
No, I don’t mean that. He’s my son. And so I’ve done what I could. These parts will help. I’ve drawn up a new blueprint for something that will keep Akalar’s mania under control. Theonimus told me of a mechanism he encountered in the New Mythrides, which the people there use to reproduce sounds. He gave me one of the devices to study. Ever since then, I’ve been attempting to work out a way to do the same.
My hope is to make a box that will play the sound of Carisse’s song. I was fortunate enough to record several snatches of it through the original device Theonimus gave me. If the device works, Akalar can keep it near him, and when the mania comes on, he can play the song and calm himself. It’s a poor substitute for the real thing, and the motherly arms around him, but I can’t think of anything more to do. Whenever I get close, he claws at my arms and cries out.
As another favor, might I impose upon your kindness to ask that Theonimus might stay with you? He can’t remain at the business anymore, and he refuses to stay in the house with Akalar. At times I can’t blame him. Sometimes I wonder myself, whether it’s wise to keep him here. But then I think of the conditions of the madhouses and asylums, the flies, the ticks. the lice, the endless weeping and teeth grinding and darkness
(Don’t send. Write another draft.)