by Edward Carey
‘And I liked it!’ I cried. ‘And I liked him! I like him very much.’
‘Name the superior,’ said the butler, ‘name please.’
‘Clod!’
‘Master Clodius?’ gasped Piggott.
‘Clodius, Ayris’s son, his own grandchild! I don’t believe it,’ said the butler.
‘His birth object,’ I declared, ‘is a bath plug!’
‘I shall give in my resignation!’ the butler groaned.
‘You shall do no such thing, Olbert.’
‘It has never happened before, Claar.’
‘It shall never happen again, Olbert.’
‘I am very much afraid,’ the butler stammered, ‘the horrible child is telling the truth.’
‘I believe it too, Olbert, Master Clodius has always been slightly suspect, despite his blood, like Master Rippit before him. But it is no matter, true or false. No one shall hear of it.’
‘If only it could be so.’
‘She shall be sent out, Olbert. Three hundred yards?’
‘In this weather?’
‘Why not?’
‘Yes, Claar, call her three hundred yards, no five hundred! Start her at five hundred, and if she comes back, let it be a mile, two even; give her a lead as long as the Thames, and lose the end of it. Atlantic her! Whoever is her anchor, make that anchor small and weedy, a thing of no weight or character, a feather of a person.’
‘Well spoken, Olbert, there’s your spirit back. What a character!’
‘I’m not frightened of you,’ I cried, ‘either of you.’
‘Be frightened of the heaps then, Five Hundred.’
‘I want go back to Filching.’
‘Then cut your line,’ said Piggott, ‘and walk there yourself.’
‘Out you must go, Five Hundred Iremonger,’ said the butler, ringing a bell. ‘You are dumped.’
‘No!’ I cried. ‘You cannot do this. You cannot!’
‘Have,’ said the butler.
‘You will be lost, deary, you’re big enough, and lord knows loud enough here, but out there you will seem neither big nor loud. You’ll be a grain of sand out there. Lost under a sudden wave.’
A knock at the door.
‘Ah, here you are,’ said the butler.
‘Mr Sturridge,’ said two body Iremongers, nodding. ‘This Iremonger is to be sent out into it. Five hundred yards.’
‘Five hundred, sir?’
‘That is what I said. And now. By the noon bell.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Let me go!’ I cried.
They didn’t.
The body Iremongers passed me quickly on to two heavy, stinking Iremongers who I hadn’t known before, these were Iremongers in soiled leather aprons, and they in their turn marched me upstairs to two black doors. The doors were opened and a foul stench rushed at us, and clothed us in itself, and all seemed fogged over and very, very close. I was shoved out. Into a courtyard. The air was cold but thick, my skin was suddenly so sticky. Never get clean, I thought, I’ll never be clean again. I looked up there, high up there between dark rain clouds, was just a little, a very little, sky.
‘I’m outside!’ I said. ‘Outside. That’s something. That’s something, isn’t it?’
‘There’s worse places than the darkest house cellars,’ said one Iremonger. ‘Didn’t you know?’
‘Shut it,’ said another. ‘Not to talk. Strictly not.’
It was very noisy in that courtyard, strange sounds coming from beyond the wall, out of sight for the moment, the heaps smashing against each other. The wall in front was very high and thick, with glass on its top and wire and sharp things.
‘The noon bell shall sound shortly. All ready?’ the leather man called.
I saw now that there were already many Iremongers outside, all dressed in leathers, wearing helmets, holding buckets and pitch forks, with great nets and shovels, and all with heavy gloves. They were large these Iremongers, big men and big women, thick with muscle, with creased faces, broken noses, scars on them, some with thick scabs.
‘Now listen up,’ called a leather man, ‘stay close to the wall. Not to pass out of sight today. Check your harnesses. Double-check your harnesses. Anchors pull back at the slightest hesitation. Don’t go far, stay close. Your leads must be no greater than thirty yards, but don’t stretch them.’
‘’Nother one here for you, express from Sturridge.’
‘This? This isn’t much. She’ll be thudded and pitched. You’re new, aren’t you, I haven’t seen you out before.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’m new, yes, sir, and –’
‘Not a good day to start out, just take it slow, all right? And stay by the wall.’
‘Excuse me, Captain, she has particular instructions. She’s to have a lead. Five hundred yards. Captain, express order, and a particular anchor too.’
‘Five hundred? In this?’
‘Yes, Captain, ’fraid so.’
‘Well, Iremonger, if you must be Five Hundred, then Five Hundred you’ll have to be. I think it stinks myself, but no one cares what I think. We’ll have to suit her. And get her a strong anchor.’
‘Beg your pardon, Captain, the anchor’s been chose for her.’
‘Really? Someone strong I trust, strong and heavy. Who is her anchor?’
‘This one.’
‘That one, you sure?’
‘Quite sure.’
‘It’s murder!’ he said. ‘Make sure the ropes are secured, tie them yourself, Lieutenant.’
‘Yes, Captain.’
‘Well do it, man!’ said the Captain, marching down the line.
‘Step up then, Anchor. Let’s get you attached.’
The Anchor was a child, no more than ten at my reckoning. A greasy, skinny thing, very unhappy, shaking a little.
‘I only lifted up a saucepan, that’s all I did. I just wanted to see it, can’t be blamed for that, everyone wanted to see it, didn’t they? Just to make sure it really was moving, and it was. A cup. I’m out in the heaps for letting a cup free–! Is it fair, is it right?’
‘Did you?’ I asked. ‘Were you the kitchen boy?’
‘I was, I did it, and so what. I let the cup free.’
‘Will you shut your filthy gob?’ said the Lieutenant, ‘I couldn’t care if you’d let all of Newgate free. Point is, you’re the anchor. That’s what I’m told that’s what it’ll be. Here’s a helmet, tie it tight. You’re small though, aren’t you, and light? I’d take a weight. If I was you, I’d drag this ten-pounder along with you besides. I’ll help you with it, some of the way. How’s that for caring?’
‘I’ll weep with gratitude,’ said the boy bitterly.
‘I’m trying to help!’ said the Lieutenant.
‘Who am I anchoring for?’ he asked.
‘Me,’ I said. ‘We’ll be all right. It’s not so bad, is it? Out there?’
They both laughed at that, without mirth.
‘What’s your length then?’ asked the boy.
‘She’s Five Hundred Yards,’ said the leather man.
‘No!’
‘Yes, Five Hundred.’
‘You’ve made some friends, haven’t you?’ said the kitchen boy. ‘What the hell did you go and do?’
‘I kissed an Upiremonger.’
‘I should think you did,’ he said. ‘Wait a minute, you’re not joking, are you?’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘It’s not right,’ he said, ‘why should I pay for it? Why should I go out in this, I didn’t kiss anybody. I haven’t kissed anybody. And now most likely I never shall. Where’s your bloody boyfriend now, darling?’
‘Shut it, Anchor, do your straps up.’
‘If you start pulling me out,’ the boy said, ‘I’ll have to cut the rope. I’ll have to do it. Same as anyone. No hard feelings. I’ll take the weight and I’ll hold on. But if you pull me out, I’ll cut on you.’
‘Will you all stow it!’ roared the Captain, tramping up. ‘Now you,’
he said, pointing to me, ‘get in your togs. The bell will be sounding quick enough.’
Suspended on hooks in the courtyard were huge brass helmets and beside them what at first looked like the bodies of some strange deflated men but I soon understood were kinds of rubbery leather body suits, much thicker and grimmer than the ones I knew in Filching. I was to put one on. I could see thick stitching upon it. There were many scratch marks all over it, as if some beast had gone for it, ripping at the suit with sharp nails. There were many patches too where, I suppose, the attacking thing, whatever it was, had managed to bite through the suit, had managed to get through the thick skin of it, and what, I wondered, what happened to the person that was in the suit before me?
‘No,’ I said then, ‘I won’t! I won’t do it!’
‘Don’t think about it. Better not to think, just go to it.’
The Lieutenant lifted me up, he dropped me into the suit like a kitten into a sack. I fought, I shrieked but I couldn’t get out, he took up the helmet and screwed it on top. I was inside then, there was no getting out. He knocked on the glass of the helmet, and he grinned and waved at me. He unhooked me then and carried me in the leathery suit that was wet at the bottom, in the boots of it, and stank inside of dead animal. I couldn’t see very well, everything through the round glass of the helmet was misty. He tied something tight around my waist, I couldn’t see it. He knocked on the helmet, opened the round glass window of it.
‘Five hundred yards!’ he yelled. ‘You must come back with salvage. Must! And quick as you can. Then you shan’t have to go out again. But you come back with nothing and you’ll have to go right back out into it. Understand?’
I nodded.
All the other heap Iremongers were lined up and I was pushed amongst them; behind me was my anchor carrying all the rope, so much smaller than the others, and behind him was the Lieutenant with a weight in his hands.
‘All ready?’ called the Captain.
‘Heap! Heap!’ called the Iremongers.
‘Be strong, lads. Keep close to the wall!’
He held a long metal whistle, I could just see the writing on it – it said THE METROPOLITAN PATENT METROPOLITAN POLICE. J. HUDSON & CO. 244 BARR STREET, BIRMINGHAM. This wasn’t his then, not originally, it was taken from someone, or found out in the heaps.
‘Steady! Steady!’ he called.
All were ready with raised sticks and buckets.
‘Steady!’
A bell was rung back inside the house.
The Captain blew his whistle.
‘Tally ho!’ the Captain cried. ‘Open the gate!’
The gate was opened. The heap Iremongers charged forth, and I stumbled and trod with them as fast as I could, and somewhere a little way behind me was my anchor.
Out into the heaps.
16
A Silver Cuspidor (for Personal Usage)
Clod Iremonger’s narrative continued
The Visitor in the Corner
My plug was resting on my chest when I woke. It was whispering very faintly as if it was frightened. I opened my eyes. I found I was in a bed. In the Infirmary. I thought of Lucy at first, then I remembered Robert Burrington amongst the chimney stacks, the screams of a tea strainer called Percy Detmold and then, worst of all, a bucket in a bed, and . . .
‘Alice Higgs!’ I called.
‘No one here of that name.’
Someone was sitting in the corner of the dark room. A big man in a black suit, wearing a top hat like Robert Burrington’s chimney. It wasn’t him though, not thin enough, not tall enough either.
‘Who’s there?’ I asked.
Then I heard the birth object.
‘Jack Pike.’
Jack Pike was the particular call of a silver cuspidor. Umbitt. My grandfather, all laws, all terrors. Grandfather to us Iremongers was the planets and their movements, no sun could ever come, no morning, no colours, no movements, no breath without his say-so. He was permission to exist got up in dark garments, in a black, black suit.
‘Is it,’ I whispered faintly, ‘is it he?’
‘Do you not know your own grandfather?’ came the thick voice.
‘Grandfather! Oh, my grandfather!’
‘Is it so strange,’ he said, deep in his corner still, ‘that a grandfather should visit his poor grandchild in distress?’
‘Yes, sir, I mean, no, sir. I mean, how do you do, sir.’
‘Clod, don’t be a stranger.’
‘It is very kind of you to visit, Grandfather.’
‘Yes.’
‘Have I been ill? Have I been ill a long time?’
‘In the history of the world, no. In the history of Clod Iremonger, a few hours.’
‘Is it dark yet? Is it night again?’
‘It is dark in this room. It is night here. Curtains and shutters alter time.’
‘It is still day then? What o’clock?’
‘It is time for a talk, Clod. That is the exact measure.’
‘I saw a girl, Grandfather, a starving girl and a bucket.’
‘Clod Iremonger, concentrate! Do you see what is on the table there beside you?’
I felt a brown paper parcel.
‘Do please to open it,’ Grandfather said.
I lifted the parcel, pulled the string and opened the paper to see what was inside. It was something folded up, something new and clean and dark. I pulled it out a little, and just by touching it I knew what it was.
‘Trousers!’ I called.
‘Your trousers have come,’ he said.
‘So soon?’
‘You sound disappointed.’
‘No, sir,’ I said. ‘I thought I should not be trousered for six months.’
‘Time has been moved forward,’ he said.
‘And I am to marry Pinalippy?’
‘Soon enough, quite soon enough,’ he said. ‘You are called now. You are to be made ready. You shall be required in the city.’
‘The city! But I was told I should stay here, that I would never leave Heap House. That my illness –’
‘You have been told a great many things,’ he said, ‘for your own protection, and for others’.’
‘Grandfather, may I ask something?’ I said, my head spinning and aching and pounding with buildings of thoughts inside coming down and going up again.
‘Ask.’
‘Who was the girl I saw, the ragged one in Rosamud’s room?’
‘Not that, not yet. Ask another.’
‘Grandfather, if I am to go to the city am I well then?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘you are fragile, Clod. You are not like other children, you break easily, you may shatter. But, unlike other children, you have certain sensibilities, a certain understanding, a different, shall we say, outlook on the world.’
‘Because I am ill?’
‘Because you hear things.’
‘Yes, I do hear things, sir, I do truly.’
‘What do you hear?’
‘They said I was not to listen.’
‘But you cannot help it, can you?’
‘No, sir, I cannot help it one bit.’
‘And what do you hear?’
‘Small voices.’
‘Where from?’
‘All over, so many places, here and there, when it’s quiet, so many whispers, not always easy to hear. Things, sir. They can speak, but it’s not right, I shouldn’t listen, and it hurts to listen sometimes.’
‘Tell me, tell me, what speaks?’
‘It might be anything, anything at all.’
‘For example?’
‘It might be a shoe, it might be.’
‘A shoe?’
‘A shoe, yes, sir, it might be, or a plug. It may be a plug that says, “James Henry Hayward,” or something else that calls, “Jack Pike,” or, “Alice Higgs.”’
‘This,’ he said, ‘tell me, what does this say?’
Grandfather took a coin from his pocket and tossed it onto the bed. I picked it up. I looked at
it very hard. I listened to it.
‘It is a coin, Grandfather,’ I said, ‘it doesn’t say anything at all.’
‘And this?’ he asked, tossing a small pebble onto the bed.
I put it to my ear. ‘It says, “Peter Wallingford. Mondays to Fridays ten a.m. to four p.m., by appointment only, knock three times.” That’s what it says. I’m not making it up.’
‘I know you are not.’
‘My plug talks, your cuspidor talks.’
‘Of course it does, Clod. We know all about it. We knew you were a Listener since you were a baby. Some babies can never sleep for all the yelling of the objects. We always knew about you; it was not necessary for Aliver to make such a business of it, we hardly needed his interference. We knew already.’
‘And Uncle Idwid can hear too. Sir, Uncle Idwid –’ I couldn’t stop myself then – ‘Percy Detmold . . . sir, Alice Higgs is a girl and not a door handle! Did I see those things? Oh what has happened to Aunt Rosamud and to the world?’
‘Peace! Peace, Clod. Let me enlighten you. It is time.’
Things Are Not What They Seem
There was a hissing and a gas lamp was lit, I did not see how Grandfather had managed this, he barely moved in his corner, but a lamp was lit. Cold and dank and blue the room was now, a little place at the bottom of the ocean, smelling of gas and fat air and danger. And that great dark figure, that mountain of scree, the greatest of all dirtmounds, Grandfather himself, still in his top hat, his face, an old man’s face, smashed rubble, withered and worn, the emperor of rubbish, spoke again. ‘Now we shall begin.’
All was suddenly movement. Things began to fall from his pockets, they began to pour out of him, they rushed hither and thither on the floor, scurrying and hurtling, all manner of objects. These were not beetles and small creatures, they were things, objects, little pieces of this and that, rushing about Grandfather’s feet, walking hurriedly down his trouser legs, over his shoes. Whilst Grandfather sat so still, so upright, so many other things moved and hurried about him. Small cups, knives, forks, napkins, needles, pins, screws, nails, buttons, leapt into life, and at last lined themselves up on the floor either side of Grandfather’s large boots and waited there, peaceful once more.
From out of an inside coat pocket a large black slate began to appear, a tile from somebody’s roof. Grandfather’s thick fingers did not touch it, the slate moved of its own accord, turning over and over in its progress across the floor and up the bed frame, and laid itself down upon the foot of my bed.
