by Doug MacLeod
I smell hot metal. The shadows continue their grotesque dance. The bellows wheeze. I want to watch Plenitude as he cuts open the coffin, but know that to do so might damage my retinas, of which I am fond.
Then Plenitude instructs us to move back from the machine but to remain looking away from the coffin. The shadows die. There is an almighty crash as a heavy weight hits the floor. The ship works is no longer illuminated, but for a faint redness.
‘You can turn around now,’ says Plenitude, but do not touch anything yet.’
The coffin’s side rests on the floor. Along its edge, an orange glow turns to red then fades completely. The three of us crouch to gaze into the exposed coffin. I am pleased that there is no smell of barbeque coming from the shrouded corpse.
‘The cocoon is breached,’ says Plenitude, proudly. ‘We’ll wait a few minutes before we fetch him out. The iron is still hot.’
‘I would not be able to do the job anyway,’ pants Charlie. ‘At present I am unable to lift my arms.’
‘That will pass swiftly.’
I too am incapacitated for the moment.
‘He won’t fetch much,’ says Plenitude. ‘The really old ones never do.’
‘Then why have you gone to such effort if the reward is so small?’ I ask.
‘Because it is what he wanted,’ says Plenitude. ‘I have made it right.’
‘You are a true gentleman,’ says Charlie.
‘I am. Now, let us take off his head. I have a saw in the cart.’
Before Plenitude can reach for it, I hold him hard by the shoulders and regard him forcefully.
‘No,’ I say.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You are not cutting off the head.’
‘But the crate is prepared. He won’t fit if we leave his head on.’
‘We are not cutting off any more heads.’ I remain firm. ‘Gentlemen do not do that.’
Plenitude holds my gaze.
‘Thomas, you are a very new apprentice. You will permit me to do what is best. It is ridiculous to be so concerned about a head. Anatomists generally have no need for them. And I thought you understood that a corpse is no longer a human being. It is simply an artefact from which to learn.’
‘Leave his head on,’ I insist.
‘To carry a full corpse is to risk attracting attention. Would you have our glorious mission thwarted for the sake of a head that can no longer hear, speak, see or think?’
‘Or sniff,’ adds Charlie.
‘We don’t remove it,’ I say. ‘And we leave him in his shroud.’
‘But the danger of exposure –’
‘Gentlemen are not afraid of danger.’
Plenitude stands down. He knows when he is beaten. ‘Very well. When you become a doctor you will look back on this moment and be amused by your squeamishness.’
‘It is nothing of the sort. It is just good manners.’
‘Troublesome boy. You and Charlie help me put our overdressed corpse on the cart.’
Before we leave for London, we deliver Charlie to his house. He is keen to come with us, but I inform him it is a trip that Plenitude and I must make alone. I don’t say it is because I am eager to find some answers, and intend to do so tonight.
I wait for the door to close and for Charlie to be secure inside the house, for I have an eerie feeling that we are under great threat. It is an almost spectral sensation. Plenitude feels it too, I can tell.
We hear a slow clip-clop. About a hundred yards ahead, I see a horseman emerge from the night. The horse is black like Sultan, but at least two hands higher. His rider is also dressed in black, with a hood that hides the face.
‘You see him?’ Plenitude whispers.
‘I do,’ I reply.
The rider does not approach but merely watches. He carries a scythe. It is unmistakable. Then the rider turns the horse around and disappears as quickly as he arrived.
‘Perhaps he has come for someone else,’ I suggest.
‘Perhaps.’ Plenitude does not sound fearful, merely resigned.
‘We are still alive, Plenitude. We can still go to London.’
‘We must.’
We put on our monkey caps. Plenitude gees up Sultan and we head south-west.
CHAPTER 22
Plenitude is trying hard to keep up our spirits and not ponder what we have just seen. He makes airy conversation as we ride through the night.
‘I’m sorry we argued about the head. I dislike altercations. Why are you so reluctant to decapitate corpses?’
‘It’s ungentlemanly and makes us look French.’
‘The head must come off eventually.’
‘Under the assured hand of a doctor, not resurrectionists, like us.’
Plenitude shakes his head ponderously. ‘I have broken so many rules tonight. I have backfilled the grave without its coffin. I have allowed the corpse to keep his clothes, since there is little point in removing them if his grave is empty. I am an embarrassment to resurrectionists everywhere.’
I glower. ‘Plenitude, do be quiet.’
‘You are over-sensitive. It’s because you are in love.’
‘Victoria Plum detests me.’
‘But you are still in love.’
‘More than you can possibly know.’
Plenitude chuckles. ‘I like the way young people presume they have invented love and that older people are strangers to it.’
‘Have you ever felt intense love, Plenitude?’
‘Only once. She was the most extraordinarily beautiful lady. I lost her.’
‘I am sorry.’
There is the familiar dull glow of Greater London in the distance.
‘You understand loss,’ says Plenitude. ‘I know that. Might I be so bold as to ask how you came to lose your father?’
‘He was trampled to death.’
‘What trampled him?’
‘A horse.’
‘Please tell me you didn’t witness it.’
‘I did not. I was very young and in my crib.’
‘I’m sorry about your father. He lost the chance to see the child become the man. He would have loved you beyond measure, I’m sure. From what little you have told me, I don’t think he would have loved John quite so much. But you, Thomas, would have been the apple of his eye.’
We come to the place where I encountered my first prostitute. She is still there, in her sad red dress, far too illuminated by the gaslight.
‘I would like to stop here,’ I tell Plenitude.
‘Why, Thomas?’
‘I’m hungry. I wish to buy food.’
‘I would prefer we didn’t stop.’
‘Please.’
‘Oh, very well.’
Plenitude reins in Sultan.
‘May I buy you something?’ I ask.
‘A pie would be nice, if they are ready. Mr Mortimer’s pies are very good.’
I take off my monkey cap, shake down my hair then enter the bakery. The sour-faced Mr Mortimer is at the counter laying out freshly baked rolls. Of course I am not hungry at all. Mr Mortimer recognises me, even though he has had but a glimpse of me in my monkey cap.
‘What do you want, boy?’ he says.
‘I would like you to come out from behind that counter.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Because I will give you a pound note.’
I hold out the money. Mr Mortimer eyes it warily, then shrugs. He opens the counter door and walks through. Then he poses as if he has just performed a spectacular trick.
‘How was that?’ he says.
‘Turn around until you face me again.’
‘If you like.’
I am deeply relieved to see that Mr Mortimer does, in fact, wear a brand new leather apron.
‘May I have my pound?’
I hand it to him without argument.
‘Is there anything else I can do for you? My repertoire is limited, but I’ll stand on one leg if you give me another pound.’
&
nbsp; ‘I want to see your boys,’ I say.
‘Come again?’
‘Your boys in the kitchen. I want to see them.’
‘Now, now, I won’t have any of that nonsense. My boys are far too busy for it. If you feel frisky you may avail yourself of my wife.’
‘I just want to look at them,’ I say. ‘I’ll give you another pound.’
‘There are but three boys and none is as handsome as you. In truth, two are so repulsive that they are forbidden to enter the shop lest they scare away customers.’
I hand the second pound note to Mr Mortimer. Like a ringmaster, he gestures broadly, indicating that I may enter the Vulcan world of the kitchen. He leads the way.
I am reminded of the tannery. There is so much noise and bustle it is hard to believe there are only three boys mixing dough, slamming down trays and tending the giant oven that makes the kitchen seem like a visit to the sun.
Mr Mortimer yells an instruction. Instantly there is quiet. Three boys turn to regard their employer. They are not so repulsive, which is what I expected. They wear little apart from their leather aprons.
‘This man wants to look at you,’ Mr Mortimer announces.
Two boys appear baffled. One looks pleased.
‘Do you want them to turn around for you?’ Mr Mortimer asks.
‘That would be helpful.’
At Mr Mortimer’s command, the boys turn slowly. There is not a doubt in my mind. They are all wearing brand new aprons. My spirit lifts.
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘That will be all.’
Mr Mortimer bellows something and the kitchen is once again a mass of activity.
‘I have a third pound note,’ I tell Mr Mortimer, holding it out. ‘And I will give it to you if you answer a question.’
‘What about? I’m not good on geography or politics.’
‘It is not that type of a question. It might be considered rude, which is why I wish to pay you for any potential insult I may cause.’
Mr Mortimer cannot believe his luck and takes the pound note.
‘For a pound you can ask me whatever you want.’
I raise a demure hand. ‘The question is this, Mr Mortimer. Are there people in your pies?’
He smiles. ‘You’d be surprised how many people ask me that.’
‘Do the pies taste so peculiar?’
‘They are delicious, sir.’
‘Then why is the question asked so often?’
‘Oh, there is a yarn going around that some character in Fleet Street is putting humans into pies. It’s bollocks of course, but I expect the story may be published before long. It certainly has that element of nastiness that the reading public enjoys.’
‘So, you have never put humans in your pies?’
‘No, sir. Only dogs.’
‘Then I will take my leave. You have earned your money, kind sir.’
‘Come back whenever you like,’ he says.
I bow respectfully to Mrs Mortimer under her streetlamp, then replace my monkey cap. When I climb onto the cart I notice that Plenitude looks especially sombre.
‘Where’s my pie?’ he asks.
I had completely forgotten the lie I invented to justify my visit.
‘I’m sorry, Plenitude. I don’t have it.’
‘I didn’t think you would. Forgotten your own as well, I see.’
‘The pies weren’t ready.’
‘How are the aprons?’
I am astounded that Plenitude knows what I went to see.
‘I barely noticed the aprons,’ I say.
‘I thought you might pay more attention, after we went to all the trouble of delivering the leather to make them.’
There is no longer any point in disguising my motives.
‘I’m sorry, Plenitude, but I was misinformed.’
‘Tolerance has a gruesome talent for invention.’
‘Well, he won’t be able to use it anymore.’
Plenitude says nothing but gestures to the horseman behind. He is less than a hundred yards from us. When the horseman catches me looking at him, he holds his scythe high. Moments later, he is gone again.
‘Will he follow us all night?’ I wonder aloud.
‘He will follow us until he is satisfied.’
We continue the journey to Lucifer’s Yard.
It is raining when we reach Craigieburn. There are no lamps burning in windows tonight. We climb from the cart and prepare to deal with Lucifer. He approaches with a lantern. But when the person joins us I see it is not Lucifer, rather an older man with whiskers.
Out of politeness, I remove my monkey cap and hold out my hand. He gives it a firm shake and does the same for Plenitude, who is also uncapped.
‘You will find my name in the book,’ Plenitude instructs, when it is obvious he is not recognised. ‘It is Plenitude.’
‘Then welcome, Plenitude. I am Light.’
‘A beautiful name.’
‘You’re very kind to say so.’
Light trudges to the back of the cart but does not lift the cover.
‘Did you hear what happened to Lucifer?’ he says.
Plenitude looks worried. ‘Is he all right?’
‘He was murdered.’
‘Never! When?’
‘No one is sure of the exact time or even the day. There was heavy rain and the yard was deep in mud. Lucifer’s body was hidden in the slurry.’
‘Shocking news.’
‘Personally, I never liked the boy, but he didn’t deserve such an end. They washed him up and put him on the slab, of course, after he was given the last rites.’
‘Lucifer was a Catholic? I never knew. I suppose he called himself Lucifer to show how brave he was.’
‘They found what killed him,’ says Light. ‘You didn’t have to be a medical student to see it.’
‘How did he die?’ asks Plenitude. He seems genuinely distressed.
‘Someone smashed him on the back of the head and cracked his skull open.’
‘Poor boy.’
‘The monster who did it was strong. Went right into Lucifer’s brain with just one blow. I suppose the boy wouldn’t have suffered.’
‘We must be thankful for small mercies.’ Plenitude nods.
Light uncovers the cart. Our corpse is in its double canvas bag. It has a head and is shrouded, both of which surprise Light.
‘I don’t know what I can pay you for this,’ says Light. ‘I’ll have to go indoors and unwrap him. Do you usually deliver your resurrected like this, Plenitude?’
‘No.’
Light pulls back a part of the shroud to reveal an old man’s wizened face. Like the departed Lucifer before him, Light smells it.
‘I suppose I might be able to offer you twenty, provided the rest of him looks and smells as good.’
‘I’ll help you to lift him,’ says Plenitude. ‘And you can have him for nothing.’
‘What?’
‘The corpse is our gift,’ Plenitude says. ‘In memory of Lucifer.’
‘I couldn’t take him without reimbursing you. That would be wrong.’
‘Please.’
Our mission accomplished, we leave the capital. I keep glancing back to determine if we are being followed by the horseman. I don’t observe him, but I know he is there. All at once, Plenitude sniffs and trembles. I turn to see what is wrong and I am amazed. Plenitude’s pale blue eyes are full of tears.
‘Let me take the reins,’ I offer.
‘I will be all right, Thomas. I prefer to keep the reins myself.’
‘As you wish. It is very disturbing about Lucifer.’
‘It is.’
‘I didn’t much care for him either, but I would like to find the man who murdered him.’
‘He sits beside you,’ says Plenitude. ‘I murdered Lucifer.’
CHAPTER 23
It is too wet to continue our journey to Wishall. We find an inn and take shelter. It is a small, sorrowful place. The customers drink alone. No one sits by the
fire. It is as if the lonely drinkers feel unworthy of warmth. Plenitude will not take alcohol but he orders whisky for me.
‘I thought you disapproved,’ I say.
‘Drink up. I am in no position to take the moral high ground.’
‘Indeed you are not.’
We sit at a table.
‘Tell me,’ I say.
‘Drink.’
‘Not until you tell me.’
Plenitude takes out a clean white handkerchief and dabs at his eyes. ‘This is not what you think.’
‘Then tell me before the horseman takes one of us. I need to know what happened.’
Plenitude reaches for my glass and takes the smallest sip. He winces.
‘First time in twenty years. It’s horrible. Why do we drink this poison?’
‘I don’t know, but thank you for buying me poison.’
‘Put your hands on the table.’
‘For what purpose?’
‘Please do it for me, Thomas.’
‘Should I remove my gloves?’
‘Yes. And I will remove mine.’
I place my bare hands on the table and Plenitude immediately clasps them in his.
‘This is a trick,’ I say. ‘You desperately want me to believe what you are about to tell me.’
‘It will be the truth.’
‘You don’t need to clasp my hands.’
‘I do. While I am holding your hands I cannot drink the whisky, and that is what I want.’
I allow Plenitude to keep our hands together.
‘Do you remember, Thomas, how Lucifer looked at you in the yard? You told him he was intrusive.’
‘I believe I used the word importunate.’
‘A very good word, and typical of you. Why did you describe him so?’
‘He squeezed my bicep. I am not used to relative strangers handling my body in such a way.’
‘He felt more than your bicep, Thomas.’
‘My brachialis, possibly.’
‘He felt your value. It intoxicated him.’
‘I really wish we could stop this hand-holding while we speak like this.’
‘Indulge me a little longer.’
We are receiving looks from an old man sitting at the counter. He seems more pained than disapproving.
‘What did Lucifer want?’ I ask.
‘To escape. To go far away.’
‘I thought you said he was proud of the yard.’
