“I am,” Lacrimal answered. “But there is no picture on my book jacket. How did you know?”
The Gingerbreadman chuckled another deep, cakey laugh. “Because you are the leading German expert on criminal insanity. Alan doesn’t insult me by dragging along students; your bearing was unmistakably German, and it seemed the most likely. On the same criteria, I suspect that is Dr. Maxilla behind you; Dr. Vômer is the one cowering in the distance; and I have at least a sixty percent certainty that the lady is Professor Palatine, head of the Jordanian mental institute and as brilliant as she is beautiful.”
He gave another short bow, and his licorice lips rose into a radiant smile. The delegates all returned his bow and wrote more notes.
“I see you are surprised,” observed the Gingerbreadman, “surprised that an evil spirit such as I, famed for my sadistic and murderous exploits, stands before you as an intelligent entity!”
Dr. Mandible placed his hand on the Gingerbreadman’s shoulder—which he had to reach up to do—and addressed the small group.
“When the Gingerbreadman first arrived here, he was so violently deranged we had to invent a new category just for him—A-plus-plus-plus: ‘throw away the key.’ He was brutal, dangerous and without a shred of human decency. He was—and I will beg your indulgence to use an unscientific term—a fiend. Unhelpful at first and contemptuous of authority, in the past twenty years he has shown a remarkable change. Quite apart from utilizing his not-inconsiderable mental agility to become an expert on roses, he has also written several books on the criminal tendency, speaks seven languages and has a degree in philosophy and ethics from the Open University. So you see before you, lady and gentlemen, not the monster that was but a useful asset to the society he once terrorized.”
The Gingerbreadman looked embarrassed and stared at his feet.
“Alan is too kind,” he said at last in a low voice, “but what he neglects to tell you is that even though this is a hospital and not a prison, it is a confusion in words only. I will never be released despite the good doctor’s work, because punishment and incarceration are but aspects of the penal system. We live in a society that values revenge, revenge for the victims and their families. It is for their sake that I must remain here.”
He lowered his cherry eyes and sighed, giving off another whiff of ginger. They all sensed that the interview was at an end, said their good-byes and filed away. Dr. Vômer was the first to say anything, when they were safely out of earshot.
“I think I speak for all of us when I say how remarkable your rehabilitation of the Gingerbreadman has been,” he began. “Perhaps you would like to give the keynote speech at LoopyCon next year?”
The other delegates nodded their agreement, and Mandible tried to look abashed and surprised by this sudden honor. He allowed himself a brief twinge of pride. Next year LoopyCon would echo with the praises of the Mandible technique for treatment of violent serial offenders. It would be a short leap, he thought, from there to having his name indelibly linked to the other great names of psychology: Freud, Jung, Skinner, Chumley—Mandible! He shivered as he thought of it.
The Gingerbreadman had returned to his roses after the small party left. He looked about him to make sure no one was watching, then cupped his hands around a small flower just coming to life. After thirty seconds or so, he took his hands away and smiled to himself. The small rose had undergone a transformation within his hands. Where before it had been alive and beautiful, now it was withered and brown. Dead, dried and decayed, rotten as the evil soul of the Gingerbreadman.
4. The Robert Southey
First (and only) bear relocation: Mr. and Mrs. Edward Bruin, 1977. With the passing of the 1962 Animal (anthropomorphic) Equality Bill, all talking animals won the right not to be exploited or hunted and instead live in the designated safe haven of Berkshire, England. Bears were fully expected to take up residence in small cottages in the middle of woods and eat porridge in a state of blissful quasi-human solitude, but they didn’t. Most bears instead preferred to remain urbane city dwellers and shunned the notion of foraging in the countryside. Ursine elders deplore the situation but secretly admit that Reading’s proliferating coffee shops, theaters and shopping opportunities are not without their attractions.
—The Bumper Book of Berkshire Records, 2004 edition
Jack was being driven through Reading by Mary and was studying that morning’s copy of The Mole with a frown etched deeply on his brow. Despite the success of the Scissor-man capture six weeks earlier, and the Humpty triumph four months before that, a few well-publicized failings had set them back to the pre-Scissor/Humpty days of thankless obscurity but, annoyingly, without the obscurity.
“How’s it looking?” asked Mary.
“Not exactly favorable,” replied Jack, showing her a newspaper that sported the banner headline DOUBLE DEVOURING SHOCKS READING.
“I thought that was one of the better ones,” commented Mary, holding up a copy of the Reading Daily Trumpet which had NCD OVERSIGHT: WOLF EATS TWO emblazoned in large type across the front page. The Reading Daily Eyestrain had been no better, with RED-CLOAKED TOT IN SWALLOWING DRAMA. But The Toad had been the most scathing, under a headline that read JACK SPRATT: INCOMPETENT BONEHEAD? and went on to list several well-argued reasons as to why he was.
“The Toad?” asked Mary. “Must be our old friend Josh Hatchett.”
“Who else?”
Josh Hatchett was one of the Nursery Crime Division’s more outspoken critics. He called himself “the loyal opposition” whenever they met, but to Jack and Mary he was more simply “that troublemaker.” It was he alone who had raised several questions over the ethical use of children as bait during the Scissor-man capture. The fallout from that hadn’t been comfortable, and Jack had received an official reprimand.
Jack shook his head sadly as he read. The Riding-Hood investigation had admittedly gone a little off the rails, and okay, a few people had been eaten. The critical spotlight of the press had been swung brightly in Jack’s direction, and the hard-won prestige of the Humpty affair and everything else negated in less time than it takes to say “What big eyes you have.” Jack sighed. The press had lauded him to the skies and now looked set to condemn him with equal enthusiasm. Mary shifted down a gear as Jack threw the newspaper onto the backseat.