Heap House for Hotkeys

by Edward Carey

  ‘Yes, Pinalippy, crystal.’

  ‘Be swift then, I shall be missing you.’

  I started towards Uncle Aliver whose hands were very crimson, he had just taken some shards of porcelain from out of some family member or other. I hoped very much to steer from him before getting too close and thus make my way back around the room to Lucy, then to use the authority of my trousers to get her free, but Liver saw me and he did wave me over.

  ‘Clod, Clod, do you have a steady hand?’

  ‘A little wobbly actually, Uncle, I’m rather nervous. My head, you see, it hurts chronically. There are so many noises inside it, trying to shout each other out. I can barely hear you at all.’

  ‘This before me,’ said Aliver, ‘is your Uncle Idwid, he’s been very punctured. Many things have flown into him, as if they were aiming for him most particularly. A quantity of china have I plucked from his chest, there was a whole tea service for all I reckon all about him, sticking in. And what’s more a tea strainer cut into his left ear as if it was attempting to burrow itself inside.’

  ‘Poor Uncle Idwid, he does indeed appear much perforated. Is he awake, Uncle? Is he sensible?’

  ‘The Governor was in such an agony and making such noises of discomfort that I thought it sensible to put a little chloroform on some wadding to have him passive as I removed the china and stitched him up. But he shall be with us again very soon, I am sure. Indeed, Clod, he is stirring now.’

  Uncle Idwid shivered a little upon the dining room table, his scratched hand reached out to the nasal clippers that lay beside him. His broken eyes remained closed, but his mouth opened a crack to whisper, barely, ‘Hayward . . . is it . . . Hayward?’

  ‘Hullo, Uncle, how do you do?’

  ‘I am a colander, dear Clod,’ he whispered.

  ‘Nothing like so bad, sir, more a pepper pot, few holes, just a few, closing up now.’

  His smile was back with him. ‘You’re a good boy, Clod. I love you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘The Gathering, Clod, the Gathering down below has grown so very big again, it is trying its hardest to get out. But you must not let it! If it gets out, if it joins with the rest of the heap beyond it shall become such a thing, such a huge monster, that it shall bring us all down.’

  ‘It shall be kept in. I am sure, sir, perhaps it has already been dismantled.’

  ‘Is Umbitt back?’

  ‘No, sir, I fear not.’

  ‘Umbitt, Umbitt would know what to do.’

  ‘There is a portion of a saucer, Cousin Governor,’ said Uncle Aliver, ‘still lodged inside your knee, I mean to take it out now. Clod, will you hold your uncle still?’

  ‘Clod, my love,’ said Idwid. ‘Clod, my ear, come close, come close now.’

  I found myself very close to Uncle Idwid then, so much that his mouth and his teeth were just by my ear. I had seen him pick up Geraldine Whitehead and move it towards his own face, but I thought that was only for comfort’s sake.

  ‘This shall hurt a little,’ said Aliver further down.

  ‘Do not hesitate!’ called Idwid.

  Aliver dug his knife in.

  Idwid cried out and as he cried, Geraldine Whitehead closed its long jaws tight upon my ear.

  ‘Ah!’ I screamed.

  ‘Nearly there,’ said Aliver, ‘a little more.’

  ‘Ah!’ shrieked Idwid, clamping down all the harder on his Geraldine so that it began to cut into me now.

  ‘Uncle, please, sir!’ I cried.

  ‘Where is it?’ whispered Idwid into my clamped ear. ‘Where is the it? It’s with you, I think. It is known that you had a liking for it. What have you done with it? Tell me, dear, tell me, Clod, now!’

  ‘Hold tight!’ called Aliver.

  ‘Ah! Ah!’ shrieked Idwid and to counter his pain dug in the deeper with Geraldine. ‘Where now,’ he whispered, ‘have you put it? Is it here? Is it in this room even now? It is! It is, I’m sure of it! Under our noses! It! It! Get it out!’

  ‘Last bit now, and then all done. Once more!’ called Aliver.

  ‘It! It!’ cried Idwid, cutting my ear. But he had cut too far, Geraldine had slipped, it had torn my ear a bit and so doing lost its grasp. I had the wadding then in a moment and stuffed it over Idwid’s wide moon face, and the hand that raised Geraldine Whitehead withered slowly and cluttered bloody upon the table and Uncle Idwid was asleep with the chloroform.

  ‘All done,’ said Aliver, ‘well then, that wasn’t so bad after all, was it?’

  ‘I fear poor Uncle Idwid has fainted with the pain.’

  ‘I thought he was made of stronger stuff.’

  ‘Apparently not, Uncle.’

  ‘What’s happened to your ear?’

  ‘A little nick, Uncle, nothing to speak of, well, I must go on, glad I could be of help.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Clod. Sure I can’t do anything about that ear?’

  ‘No, thank you, Uncle, no need.’

  I was around the Hall, stepping over Iremongers, nodding at relations; there she was in her spoilt uniform, her hands shaking, Lucy finishing wrapping a smashed leg. I pulled her up.

  ‘Iremonger,’ I said, ‘I need you. You’re to come with me.’

  ‘She’s working here,’ said the matron, calling over, ‘attending to the sick.’

  ‘Don’t argue with me, matron, I’m in trousers now and not to be spoken to.’

  ‘You might be in ermine for all I care, Master Clodius, I need her help.’

  ‘You have no authority over me.’

  ‘Over you, no, over her, yes.’

  ‘She’s coming with me.’

  ‘She stays here.’

  ‘Do you argue with a full-blood?’

  ‘I argue with the circumstances, with medical emergency. That’s my beef.’

  I had hold of Lucy by the right hand, the matron, up now and with us, held her by the left. Lucy stood in terror in the middle.

  ‘Let her go!’ I said.

  ‘I shall not,’ called the matron.

  ‘She’s coming with me.’

  ‘She stays in this room until I’m done with her.’

  ‘Listen, matron, be sensible, I must have a word with you.’

  ‘I thought we were doing that already. You’ve got everyone’s attention.’

  Indeed now so many people were looking up at us, wondering at our argument, no doubt at why a true Iremonger should be making such a fuss over a servant. In the distance Idwid was beginning to stir upon the dining room table.

  ‘Listen, matron,’ I said, quiet now, so that only she and I and Lucy might hear, those Iremongers all about us watching the swinging chandelier again, ‘please to listen. Do you know who this filthy creature is?’

  ‘Some skivvy, what does it matter?’

  ‘Please, matron, I want you to stay calm. I want you to take a deep breath. Now listen carefully. This ugly wraith is something more than you suppose. Consider now who she might be. Her hair beneath this filthy bonnet is russet. There is a clue in that. Take a look at her, do but properly observe her muddied phiz, and you shall see soon enough what I’m talking about.’

  The matron dumbly looked, but saw – for her face betrayed her mind entirely – nothing in particular.

  ‘I did not wish to say it,’ I continued, ‘for fear of causing great alarm. I did not wish to tell you for fear of upsetting you, now I see that I must.’

  ‘Well then, you must,’ she said, ‘go on do.’

  Lucy was all the while staring at me, most perplexed.

  ‘Well, then, this person whose wrist you are holding is none other than the one they are all searching for. I did not want to raise alarm. People here have been hurt enough already. I merely mean to proceed with her under my custody to the hatch over beyond, and there to take her downhouse where she is waited for, waited for and expected by my Uncle Timfy himself and Sturridge and Piggott, and there I, the one who caught the vermin, must move her, and quickly too, before more harm is d
one. Do you understand now? Must I make myself clearer? This, what you hold, is it, the it, the unblood. It itself.’

  The matron stood very still now, her hand still grasping Lucy, no words coming out, just looking, just standing, and then in time with the clinking chandelier she began to shake a little, in her eyes a moisture grew and then some tears began to fall down her cheeks and very soon she was sobbing.

  ‘I . . . I didn’t know,’ she wept.

  ‘Come now, matron, no one’s blaming you.’

  ‘I touched it . . . I’m touching it,’ she said, hurriedly letting go.

  ‘And all shall be well again after a good wash.’

  ‘I’m ever so, I’m ever so, I’m ever so sorry.’

  ‘You’re in shock, matron, understandable that you are. Perfectly sensible that you are. Indeed, who wouldn’t be. Here’s a chair for you now, sit you down.’

  ‘Bless you, Master Clodius, oh dear, I don’t feel well.’

  ‘Shall I take it away then?’

  ‘I wish that you would.’

  ‘Are you all right; are you safe to leave now?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry after me, master. Please get it away. Please do. So terrible having it so close. Oh, my heart!’

  ‘Off we go then, and quietly too, not wishing to cause any alarm.’

  ‘Yes . . . yes,’ she wept, ‘I quite see that now.’

  So I pulled Lucy away from the unhappy matron, and walked with her as quietly as we could, towards the hatch. On the dining room table Uncle Idwid was trying to sit up.

  ‘Oh, Clod,’ said Lucy, ‘have you done it?’

  ‘Not yet, Lucy, not yet.’

  ‘I think I might scream from fright any moment.’

  ‘Best if you don’t, I think, on the whole.’

  We reached the hatch, and under the cover of the swaying chandelier we slid the serving hatch upwards, the dumb waiter was in place, we did not have to heave it up ourselves and so we crept in. We were very close, very tight together in there. I slid the hatch down and there then we couldn’t see the Great Dining Room any more, the ropes were either side of that tiny shelf-room, we must pull it up bit by bit to let us go down bit by bit. And so we pulled and we started our descending. We bumped and stuttered as we moved. The sounds of the dining room were going away. We could just comprehend, ‘Clod! Clod Iremonger, where are you? I want you!’

  Pinalippy’s voice, diminishing.

  Little Room Descending

  ‘Clod, I thought I was dead.’

  ‘Not dead at all, you see. Down we go.’

  The further away from the din of the Great Dining Room we went the closer we grew to the abominable noise of the rooms under the house. The vaulted ceilings echoed noises there at the best of times, but now, on such a night, it could be guaranteed to thunder. And if all those things clamped around the name of Robert Burrington were shifting below, bloat and great, fat with possessions, all with names sounding like the report of fusiliers, then, once down there, I should not hear a thing, I should be very deaf, and only have sight to help me. And then, of course, in addition, there was the flooding.

  ‘She did seem keen on you, your Pinalippy,’ said Lucy.

  ‘It’s just the trousers, she never liked me much in shorts.’

  ‘James Henry Hayward,’ my plug was calling out.

  ‘All over you, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Well then, perhaps she was a bit, Lucy.’

  ‘Enjoyed that?’

  ‘Are you jealous?’

  ‘James Henry Hayward,’ he called, growing louder.

  ‘Certainly am not.’

  ‘There’s one thing I must tell you, Lucy, before we get very much further.’

  ‘James Henry Hayward.’ Louder yet. My plug was calling out to down below. He was calling to it, calling.

  ‘If the heaps have broken through to the centre of the cellars,’ I said, ‘then it shall be too loud for me. The noise of it all. Those names calling out. I shan’t be able to hear anything. Just a great roar. I shan’t be able to hear you.’

  ‘We shall manage.’

  ‘James Henry Hayward!’

  ‘I mean, Lucy, I shall have to rely on you very much. I shan’t be able to hear anyone coming, I shan’t be able to hear anything at all.’

  ‘James Henry Hayward!’

  ‘I’ll keep you, Clod, I’ll watch out for you.’

  ‘Not even if you shout at me,’ I said.

  ‘James Henry Hayward!’

  ‘The noise is coming now, Lucy, I hear it rising, and my plug calling back to it!’

  ‘James Henry Hayward!’

  ‘All those names shouting upwards,’ I cried ‘It’s coming! It’s coming, Lucy!’

  ‘JAMES HENRY HAYWARD!’

  ‘Lucy! Lucy, it is here!’

  I couldn’t hear any more then, not a thing. As if we were both already drowned. She was talking to me, saying something, but I couldn’t tell what it was. My head, oh my head. What a head, quite filled up, a drowning head. No pocket of peace. All full up, drowning, drowning.

  22

  A Wooden Toothpick

  Concluding the narrative of Lucy Pennant

  I have thick red hair and a round face and a nose that points upwards. My eyes are green with flecks in them, but that’s not the only place I’m dotted. There’s punctuation all over me. I’m freckled and spotted and moled and have one or two corns on my feet. My teeth are not quite white. One tooth is crooked. I’m being honest. I shall tell everything how it occurred and not tell lies but stay with the actual always. I shall do my best. One of my nostrils is slightly bigger than the other. I chew my fingernails. Sometimes the bugs do bite and then I scratch them. My name is Lucy Pennant. My name is Lucy Pennant and I shall never forget it.

  ‘I do love you I suppose, Clod Iremonger, you idiot.’

  ‘Lucy! Lucy, it is here!’

  ‘I do love you,’ I said.

  He couldn’t hear. He’d gone all strange on me. His hair was up and he was sweating, his teeth clenched. He had all those noises in his head, eating at him. Only part Clod, then, the rest of him not available, not for now. I grabbed his chin and made him look at me.

  ‘We’ll be all right,’ I said, ‘we shall be. If you get lost I’ll find you. No matter what. I’ll find you. Do you hear?’

  He nodded, but I couldn’t be certain. All right then. I pulled the ropes along, he did his side. And then with a great smack that took the wind out of us, we were done and down. We’d reached the bottom. We were in the cellars again, the other side of the hatch was the kitchen of Heap House, right then. I looked at him, just once more. On we go then. No fumbling. I shoved up the hatch. Out we scrambled.

  No one there, and everything smashed about. So many broken things. The kitchen, this cooking place, the site of some battle. Clod behind me? Clod behind me.

  ‘All right, Clod? All right?’

  He nodded a bit.

  Right then, Piggott’s room, first off. I knew the way. Clod kept behind me, but his walk was wrong, staggering like he was drunk or something, dried blood around his ear. Is he going under, I thought, even as I speak? No, no, can’t think like that. Quick as you can. Get everything, get everything and then onwards, and it will be all right, because if you say it will be and he says it will be and so it bloody will be.

  ‘Come on, old Clod, keep up.’

  The ground was covered, Clod stepped and slid over things. Scrapes, great gashes along the wall. All the noises were storm noises from outside, I couldn’t hear any human sounds. Come on, Clod. Round we go. Along the corridor, slipping but up again. His ear. Up you get.

  ‘All right?’ I shouted.

  He put his hands to his ears.

  ‘All right,’ I said.

  On we go. Round the corner, up the stairs. I could hear it then. Piggott’s room, sounds to make you want to run away for all you’re worth. Bells. It was bells. Bells sounding, all the bells of the birth objects of the serving Iremongers all ringing out.
Getting louder.

  There.

  Piggott’s door. Open. Good then.

  Don’t think, just do it. Here we are, Clod, in we thrust.

  ‘Lucy!’ he called.

  She was there. Piggott. She would be, wouldn’t she? She was at the back of the room. She was pushing herself against all those bells and drawers, she was forcing herself against them. Some of the drawers were opening, and when they did, Piggott, in her fury, slammed them shut again. She was very ripped, her bun had come loose, her clothes were very torn, I could see her petticoat, her white skin beneath it. Skin of Piggott, not something to dwell upon.

  She hadn’t heard us, not with all that noise. Piggott slammed the drawers shut, she was wailing, weeping to keep all those things in. Look at that, I thought, that’s her authority spilling out all over the place. She was wailing, moaning, groaning, awful deep groans like what a cow should make in agony, trying to slap those drawers shut. She couldn’t keep every drawer closed, she couldn’t cover the whole wall up, some things must slip out. There was a boot suddenly out of her grasp and free, there was a pillow, a lice comb, a bicycle wheel. Those free things tumbled to the floor and ran free, they made for the doorway and out to freedom. Moving things! It was such a sight to see! It was beautiful, that’s what it was, so, so beautiful!

  ‘Go on then,’ I cried, ‘go on, things! Lovely things, go on! Get out! Fly free! Get away! Be gone! Be free!’

  ‘Look!’ cried Clod. ‘Look at them go!’

  Piggott turned around, all insult and disgust, and as she turned to me so many drawers seized their chances and cannoned themselves from the wall, so much spilling out now.

  ‘You! You again!’ screamed Piggott. ‘You’ve ruined everything! All I ever had!’

  Drawers took their advantage, so many breaking their locks, so many shooting out, all those things rushing past her.

  ‘Come back, come back! Come you all back to me!’

  They didn’t though. They kept falling out, tumbling everywhere. Clod, wide-eyed, watched it all and grinned now at the lovely storm of it. Looking at all those things running free, so lovely, so lovely. A floating, flying tape measure eeling in the air! A chair, its legs kicking up dirt as it ran! A boot scraper, upturned, clockworking its way out.