The Best of Kage Baker

by Kage Baker

  “You’re a liar!” cried Mazsai.

  “Not about this,” said Heersha, sounding smug.

  “Oh, shut up and go away,” said Heezai.

  “I was just going,” Heersha said. “You’re both too pathetically boring for words.”

  They heard her walking away, and then she paused.

  “By the way,” she said, “the food’s running out. By tomorrow morning there won’t be any left. I suppose you have no idea what to do then, have you?”

  Laughing, she walked on.

  ***

  The long hours crawled by, the days with their silent climbing sunlight, the nights with their horrors. Heezai and Mazsai lay together in the sanctuary, fasting.

  “It was always replenished,” Mazsai whispered. “Always, there was food. Were our sins so great?”

  “But She forgave us our sins,” said Heezai. “She never punished us like this. There must be some other reason for our sufferings now.”

  “What if Heersha is right?” Mazsai began to weep. “What if She is nothing, after all? Keesai was wrong in everything she taught us. It was lies. The Other is all-powerful.”

  “No.” Heezai was thinking carefully. “Remember, how you said this must be a test of our faith? Perhaps it’s a very hard test.”

  “She would never test us like this!” said Mazsai. “She loved us!”

  “She might test our strength, even if it was a little painful,” said Heezai. “How far back can you remember, sister?”

  “…I remember Keesai,” said Mazsai at last, sounding doubtful. “Of course. And all our lessons. I remember when Keesai was in pain, and ascended into the void.”

  “That was later. But can you remember very far back?” Heezai asked.

  “I…I don’t like to. Because…” Mazsai’s voice trailed away.

  “When did we learn about pain, sister?”

  “Long ago,” said Mazsai. “There was—oh, the strange smell! And the brightness, I was so frightened of it! And unbearable pain!”

  “It wasn’t unbearable,” said Heezai. “Can’t you remember? She comforted us. She heard our prayers. Do you remember what Keesai told us then?”

  “No!”

  “She told us to be brave, because it was all for our own good,” said Heezai. “She said the pain would go away, and it did.”

  “…For our own good?”

  “To make us more perfect servants of Her will,” said Heezai. “‘A little pain for a lifetime of blessedness, children,’ that’s what Keesai said.”

  “No, I don’t remember any such thing.” Mazsai was on the point of angry tears.

  “It happened, all the same.” Heezai got to her feet, with effort.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I think this is more pain for our own good,” said Heezai. “Heersha is evil, but she was telling the truth about the void and the law of the void. It’s all fighting and death there. Well, the void has come into Her temple now. There must be a greater sacrifice to Her glory than there has ever been, before She will manifest for us again.”

  Heezai walked unsteadily to the door of the sanctuary.

  “Where are you going?” cried Mazsai.

  “I am going to fight the servant of the Other,” said Heezai, and went out into the light.

  ***

  Heezai thought to seek Heersha in the great hall of the portal, but as she passed the door to the refectory, she beheld movement. Curious, she peered in.

  She had believed nothing more would shock her; but she had been wrong.

  “Sacrilege!” she shouted. Heersha, who was tearing greedily at a sacrifice, merely raised her eyes.

  “Get out,” she said.

  “The sacrifices are Hers alone!”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Heersha replied, through a full mouth. “Do you think anyone is ever coming back to accept your offerings? He’s happy to take what I leave Him.” She swallowed, and grinned. “And are you telling me you’ve never wanted to do this? Why, look at you; your mouth’s watering. You want it now—”

  Heezai launched herself at the servant of the Other, and rage gave her strength. Starved as she was, she was still heavier than Heersha, who collapsed before her with an oof. Heersha lay stunned a moment, fighting for breath, as Heezai kicked and pummeled her; but in another moment she threw off her opponent and sprang to her feet, drawing her weapons.

  The fight was silent. There was too much hatred for taunts. Heersha leaped, feinted, stabbed; Heezai dodged; Heersha circled, weaving, slashing out, going for Heezai’s other eye. Heezai fell and rolled, avoiding blindness, but Heersha came down on her back with all her weight, and slashed again at Heezai’s head. She took off the tip of Heezai’s ear.

  Heezai felt the impact more than the pain. Then it was only burning, burning, and she was somehow on her feet and glaring across the room at Heersha. Heersha was laughing, low in her throat. She crouched, preparing to spring and slash again. Heezai crouched too and waited, and the red blood streamed down the side of her face, fell in big drops to the floor of the temple.

  Heezai waited until Heersha was in midair, and tried to scramble away. Partly she succeeded, slipping on the slick blood, and Heersha struck the wall, but fell on her. She was wounded again before she managed to break away; she couldn’t tell where, but felt her strength running out with the blood.

  And Heersha was stalking toward her, now, winded but grinning still.

  “His is the triumph,” she said, flexing her supple back to leap again.

  “Heezaiii!” Mazsai was thundering into the room, fat timid Mazsai, and she hit Heersha and they went bowling over and over before colliding with the wall. Heersha was again knocked breathless. Mazsai rolled back, finding her feet, and put herself between Heezai and Heersha.

  “You evil thing,” she sobbed, “go away!”

  There was a noise, louder than thunder. There was a light so brilliant it blinded them all. The celestial harmonies shook the air, and She was manifest.

  She Herself, alone, and there was no Other to darken the air beside her or take half Her divine music.

  Mazsai edged backward and exchanged a frightened glance with Heezai. The glorious voice was throbbing with emotion, but not love. They heard fury, and grief, and wounded pride, and betrayal. The very walls of the temple were shaking with the impact, as She directed blows against it. Columns shattered and fell, terraces moved half their length across the great hall.

  Heersha had got to her feet and was shaking her head, stupefied. Looking up at Her approach, she bared her teeth.

  Spellbound, Heezai and Mazsai watched and saw the truth of damnation, saw the price of offense against Her. Heersha was seized up bodily, borne toward the portal too quick to scream or struggle. The portal opened, and a great blast of cold rushed into the temple, and they saw darkness and stars beyond.

  Heersha was flung through the portal, which slammed behind her with a boom that was painful to their ears, but they ran close—even daring Her wrath—in time to see Heersha cartwheeling through the void before landing on her feet, square in a livid blotch of light that moved on her relentlessly. She turned to meet it with a scream of rage, but it did not stop for fear of her. It came on, and crushed her, and when it had passed they saw her lying in her own blood, not moving.

  “Sinner,” hissed Mazsai, vindicated beyond her wildest dreams.

  They became aware that She had passed into the rear of the temple behind them. They turned together and hurried through the great hall without hesitation, though Heezai was limping badly. That place above their sanctuary, so long black and fearful, was now aglow with Her presence. Timidly, abasing themselves, they came before Her.

  Wonder of wonders, they were lifted at once into Her bosom and embraced, and Her warmth surrounded them, and Her aggrieved heart poured out its love to them alone! Rapturous, thankful, they sang Her praise, and this was the verse She sang over theirs:

  “Oh, Hussy, oh, Mussy, Mommie’s so sorry she left her kitties
alone so long to go on vacation with that awful man! Mommie’s glad she threw out his nasty old cat! Mommie promises she’ll never, ever leave you alone again!”

  The Leaping Lover

  12th January 1838 Friday morning

  My Dear Matilda,

  My fond regards to all those at Greta Bridge which seems very quaint to me now, as London is so far removed it is as great a difference as Heaven above Earth I suppose. You would scarcely believe what a time I am having at Aunt Pyelott’s. The glittring Society! The refined Gentlemen, so very solicitors for ones comfort! Such attentions I have received! But you will have to imagine it all as I could not begin to describe it.

  I am gazing out as I write at a district known as Lime House, very genteel and of great antikwity. The Pyelotts reside in a gracious mansion in Salmon Lane, kinveniently located above Uncle Pyelott’s premises. The Garden is pleasantly rustick and Aunt Pyelott has a hen shed to make it more like the Country as that is the current fashion here, only of course she has a Boy to see to the eggs.

  We often promernod through London, perhaps down to the Comercial Road or even as far as the Basin to see the Barges, and I wore my yellow morning gown the other day, the one that John said sets off my eyes so nice, but I was obliged to wear my black boots because of the kindition of the lane rather than the Maroko slippers which I would have much prefered. However I have a new Gown being prepared of exquisitt green stuff for the Ball which is being held Friday next and the sempstress is French of course and she informs me black slippers are all the Thing now so I shall be fashionably shod.

  I almost neglected to mention, Aunt Pyelott’s cousin resides here as well, a Poor Relation, Miss Maud Bellman. She is a plain little thing with specktacles but quite agreeable and anxious to make herself useful as indeed she should be. I shall perhaps endevour to make something of her as the Poor if left to themselves often descend to degerdation. Aunt Pyelott has graciously gotten her a ticket to the Ball as well, though I cannot imagine the poor thing will show to her advantage.

  I must away—Madame Hector is here for my fitting. Pray write and tell me how you are getting on and my kind regards to all the Prices.

  I remain

  Yours and cetrer

  Fanny Squeers

  20th January 1838 Saturday Noon

  Dear Tilda,

  Perhaps you were expecting some fond account of the Ball which I was at only last night but oh, what a far more terrible tale I have to tell!

  Though I will say the Ball was a Triumph. As I suspected I far outshone poor Miss Bellman, who wore only a sort of puce dress more fitting to Tea but then she hadn’t any better, and I pity the creature. I condesinded to encourage her a little, and offered her the use of my old violet shawl with the jet beads, but she declined, at which I was secretly a little releeved because really it was too fine considering the other stuff she had on and not her colour at all.

  The evening was fine for the season and so we walked there, the Ball being held at the Caledonian Arms up the lane. We had some exitement at the door for I nearly thought I had left my Invitation but at the last moment Miss Bellman found it in the bottom of my reticule for me. She really may make someone a 1st rate ladys maid with a little training and I must speak to Aunt Pyelott about it.

  As for the Society at the Ball, well that was a little dissapointing because most of the men present were in the trade (clerks and such) and I could see they were somewhat overwelmed by my carriage. I graciously declined to dance with most of them although there was one Gentleman who is in Ship Chandlering or something, quite well to do, Mr. Clement I recall is his name, and he was there with his Partners Mr. Tacker and Mr. Johnson. I made sure to dance with all three.

  I pitied one tall fellow with black whiskers who gazed at me with such elockwent longing! Had he mustard enough courage to speak to me, I declare I might have danced with him; little did I suspect his Wild Nature! But I am getting ahead of myself. Miss Bellman, poor creature, danced with one or two fellows of the lower sort and her face got quite red, which may have been the affect of the gin punch.

  Uncle Pyelott was to have called for us in a Handsom but we left rather early as I was a little fateeged. Oh, Tilda, what small twists of Chance decide our Fate! For if I had waited—but you shall hear what befell next.

  I was rather apprinsieve I confess coming away from Bow Common, on account of there was no more than a gibrous moon by which to see, and no light except the watchmans all the way across the field at the Cable Manefactry. What ierny! For we were quite unmolested all that open way, and the attack did not come until we we had once reached the Shelter of houses.

  What, I hear you exclaim, attack! Yes, Tilda, attack! For as we were nearly to the bridge over the canal, on a sudden a Frightful Aparishen sprung out of an alley! He was quite tall, cloaked in Inky Black, which he flung back to Reveal a Horrific Counternance. There was a spark of fire at his Bosom and then he breathed out flames. I naturally screamed in terror and so I need hardly add did Miss Bellman, the more so when the Monster then seezed me in his Powerful Arms and tore at my rayment with Fearful Claws!!!!

  What his intentions were you can scarcely imagine, as you have led a sheltered life, but I was fainting and almost unable to struggle against the Force of his Passion, and what might have happened if Miss Bellman had not found a half brick in the lane and struck my Asailant, I dare not imagine. His head rang like a dinner bell as he was wearing some sort of helment. He used dreadful langwedge then and released me, and then—to my astonishment—sprang away over a wall and we heard him running into the infathemable shadows of night!

  I screamed all the way home though more from Fear and Shock than Injury, as his claws left only a scratch or two and some brooses this morning. I begged Miss Bellman not to tell Uncle Pyelott for reasons which will become plain, which were: that I suspect it was the handsome Clerk with black whiskers who so admired me at the Ball.

  How I am certain it was no Unearthly Feind? You may wonder, but his face was at a distance of but inches and I saw plain he wore a mask. Also when he vommited fire there was a strong smell of gin afterward and I have seen gypsys at the Fair do as much, taking a mouthful of spirits and then blowing it across a brand. Miss Bellman found a burnt match in the lane as she was endevring to revive me and I do not doubt that was where the fire come from.

  Poor man! Being unable to Approach me by reason of my Exalted Station, he contrived a desprate plan to sasiate his violent thwarted passion. I pity him but cannot somehow bring myself to condem him for it. Yet if my pa were to hear of this he would see him transported or at least hung.

  When I contemplait what nearly occurred I fall into swooning. Be glad, Tilda, that you are unlikely to undergo such arrowing ordeals in Greta Bridge.

  I remain

  Yours and cetrer

  Fanny Squeers

  January 25, 1838 Thursday Morning

  Oh Tilda,

  I am so dreadfully low. I must unburden myself; though I cannot expect you to comperhend the nature of my woe. I do not think anybody could unless it might be Helen of Troy or King Arthurs wife whose name I cannot recall at the moment but who also was the cause of great suffering because of her fatal beauty.

  My secret lover was not discouraged by the half brick, it seems. For some few nights after the Ball he has been seen several times around Salmon Lane, and in Catherine Street and on Bow Common. He is clearly haunting my path in hopes of beholding me once more. This is the consequence of passions feury denyed I suppose, that drives a man to madness, but of course I am staying in at night—it were worse madness to tempt him further. So all sorts of persons have been making kimplaint to the constables about a tall masked man who leapt out from the gloom of night to surprize them, only to assault them when he discovered they were not me. There has been a blacksmith, a Respectable merchant and two boys so attacked. The children in the Lane have taking to calling him Spring-Heel’d Jack.

  All this were misery enough for me to endure, knowing my
accurst charms to be the cause of so much trouble. Judge then with what horror I learned the news late this morning that my poor Admirer is now also accused of Murder!

  You remember Mr. Clement that I told you about, the prosprous gentleman who had a Ship Chandlery warehouse? He was the foremost of those who danced with me at the ball, and very pleasant and agreeable he was too, not so old for a man with so much money. Well he is dead! Stabbed through the heart, and left to waller in his own goar! It happened only last night. He and one of his partners had just left their counting-house in the Comercial Road and walked homeward. The partner (I think it was Mr. Tacker) parted from him at Dalglish Street and was going on for he lives hard by St. Anns.

  Mr. Tacker had not got far when he heard a shout coming out of Dalglish Street. ‘Here’s Spring-Heel’d Jack!’ he thought it said. And following on this was a scream that he thought might be Mr. Clement. He ran back and turned into Dalglish Street, only to see his friend laying dead there, weltering in blood! He looked all round but it was at a point where two lanes crossed and the Murderer might have run off in any direction. He raised the cry and the Police came but it was too late. They have arrested Mr. Tacker as he was seen by the bleeding Corpse and there were no witnesses.

  But it is said by everybody that the real Murderer is Spring Heel’d Jack, because there were two boot-prints in the mud by Mr. Clement’s Corpse but none leading up to it nor away, and it is supposed only Jack can leap so. Whatever shall I do? Can I think that I am responsibble for this shocking crime by reason of my beauty?

  Be grateful, Tilda, that you will never bear such a weight on your conscience.

  I remain

  Yours and cetrer

  Fanny Squeers

  18th February, 1838 Sunday Afternoon

  My dear Matilda,

  So much has happened since last I put Pen to Paper, I hardly know where to begin. What news, you will surely ask, of Spring Heel’d Jack? What of the Infamous Murder? Read on and see for yourself.

  You will recall I was sunk in woe at the thought that my dashing Admirer was guilty of so fowl a crime. Miss Bellman heard my tears and was so considerate as to ask what the matter was. Silly creature! As though it were not too plain. But I must not be unkind as she has no admirers and so no understanding of my grief. When I told her my fear she said it was certainly very queer that everyone said Spring-Heel’d Jack took such prodeejous leaps, when she had not seen him demonstrate any such Power.