His skin was the white of mutings and sputum and ash. His head was too large for his body, a great round head, bald, with enormous, yellow-tinged eyes set far forward. His lips were thin but a vivid dark red, a colour darker than brick, almost black. His legs were long, sheathed in tight silk the colour of an old tooth; his barrel chest stretched out a white coat with long, cut-away tails that reached well below his knees. Small black chevrons ran intermittently in hatched bands across the back and sleeves; his high stiff collar was cottised with the same.
Of the millions of worlds God created, the Wurm liked this one best, with its Cairo and its Delhi, its Peking and its London. Of the millions upon millions of species that Goddess created to inhabit those worlds, Wurm liked the ones on this world best. Humans, above all. Humans, who most closely resembled the creatures he imagined as his own children, step-children of his cold fever-dreams.
He loved (if such a word could be applied to the Wurm) the sounds here. He widened his ears and sucked in a river of human sound: the ceaseless murmurs, pleas, vain invocations, threats, idle boasts, a mussitation of folly, greed, lust, arrogance and every variety of venality, a chorus of cruelty interlarded with occasional notes of mercy (“ah, but ‘nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy,’ he thought, “To that extent, they know themselves full well.”) He chuckled an awful wheezing chuckle.
He looked around his house. The long-case clock kept several forms of time, the time of London being only one of those. Its face was a dusky ozmilt-grey and featured white owls pursuing dryads and satyrs—at midnight the owls caught and devoured their prey. Inscribed around the clock in gold were “Ex Hoc Momento Pendet Aeternitas” and “Qua Redit Nescitis Horam.”
“‘On This Moment Hangs Eternity’ and ‘We Do Not Know the Hour of His Return,’” he read the inscriptions. The Wurm chuckled again, at his own wit.
“Ah, I have returned, and soon you will know this hour all too well.”
He looked around the house, long unused, only partly in this world, shielded from the eyes of all but the most perceptive. He sat in chairs, not having done so for so many centuries. He walked up the stairs to the second floor, just to experience again the sensation of human motion. He riffled through books and hefted cutlery. He opened drawers and doors and windows.
At the topmost window, he stopped and looked out over Hoxton Square. The sun was setting. He savoured the sounds of the street traffic: comings and goings at the fruiterers (he always liked their traditional sign, depicting Adam & Eve), drinkers at the Eagle & Child trying to out-sing their counterparts next door at the Boar & Bible, dogs whining, ballad-rollers and running patterers debouching their rat-rhymes and hornpipe verses into the evening air, pious folk gathering at the Three Cranes meeting house, lullabies sung by young mothers and old grans. He nodded at the rooks and magpies that swirled noisily around the rooftops, told them to hold their tongues and mind their manners or he’d have them in a pie for his supper. The birds flew off.
The Wurm sent his thought out across London. He touched on Little St. Helen’s in Bishopsgate, on the workhouse at St. Leonard’s in the Kingsland Road, on St. Anne’s-upon-Hemsworth, and on the Geffrye almshouses. His mind swooped over the great hospitals in Whitechapel and by London Bridge, crossed Old Street, over Finsbury Circus and the Wall, soared down Fenchurch to pause at Dunster Court and finally hover over Mincing Lane.
“Hmmmm . . .”
The sky was moleskin black before the Wurm’s thought left the airs above Mincing Lane. He could not see all clearly, his will was frustrated, but he knew his opponents were at home below.
“Machinations, plots and devisements. . . .”
Nearby was another coney in its huddle, in the area of Pineapple Court, he thought, but the Wurm was doubly frustrated there—his thought could find no purchase, slipping and slitching around the flanks of an opacity he could not define.
“Nothing eludes me forever . . .”
He retrieved his winged thought into himself and turned from the window.
“The hunt is on,” said the Wurm. “Here shall I gather my lieutenants. Except not the traitorous one, the one whose crimson coat I shall sear onto his body for all time when I find him. And find him I will.”
The Wurm stretched his long, long arms and smiled with his razor-thin, deep-red lips. Even though his powers were greatly diminished in this world, encased in human flesh as he was, and needed to be, for entrance, his powers were nonetheless very great still. He relished the sense of cold empty force that flowed through his arms and out, like a bright ramifying darkness, into the space about him.
“A plan they have, the most preposterous and ridiculous project ever conceived—as worthy a piece of hubristic nonsense as I have seen since their forefathers sought to raise the city and its tower on the plains of Shinar. Hoo, hoom!”
He rubbed his long fingers together.
“The game is afoot. I shall call all my tribes of sullied santrels, pious imps, and minor mulcibers. Shamble forth noctambules and quasi-gorgons! Now is the time, tick tock tick tock.”
His breath whistled and slurred. His teeth clacked.
“Come serpent-bearded Byatis and my wild-eyed Moriarty! To me, all you changelings, double-walkers, crafty men and conjure-wives.”
Wurm shifted with precise and deliberate grace from one foot to the other, hunching his shoulders and thrusting his head forward and back in time to the clock.
“Tick tock, tick tock. I call the shoggoths and bear-ghasts, the gallows mannekin and les dames blanches. Arise Old Gammer Gurton and Saint Nycticorax, your time is at hand.”
Wurm tapped his sharp nose with his fingers, licked his fingers with his rubaceous tongue.
“Hoo-HOOM! The game is afoot my lovelies!”
Interlude: Disjecta Membra
SUMMERWIRE & SON
HABERDASHERS AND PASSAMENTIERS TO THE GENTRY,
BOND STREET, LONDON
* BILL OF CHARGE, RENDERED WITH RESPECT THIS
second day after St. Adelsina
TO THE ESTEEMED
Mr. Barnabas McDoon, merchant OF Mincing Lane
PAYABLE WITHIN THIRTY DAYS OF RECEIPT,
FOR THE FOLLOWING ITEMS delivered to Mr. McDoon
One man’s waistcoat, tailored, in fine lightweight Highland wool, with sherbasse silk facing, said in pale blue with a yellow floral pattern.
Idem, with a nankin silk facing, said in scarlet with a pale yellow brindille twig pattern.
Idem, with a calicosh pattern.
Idem, fawn brown in the style called acabellado.
One gentlewoman’s head-scarf, watered silk, indigo, with white and black cross-hatching and mascles.
Upon St. Vanne’s Recognition Day
Dear Lizzie:
Thank you for your letter of the 12th instant, which I have read multiple times. How much I long to see you and tell you what I can of all that has transpired over the past years. How much, dear Lizzie, I wish to hear all about your glorious new state, id est, your marriage (!) to this Mr. Darcy and your removal from Longbourne to his seat at Pemberley. I have heard much from your aunt and uncle, our old friends the Gardiners here in the City, but yearn to hear more and from your own lips.
Speaking of the Gardiners, they recommend that I speak with you also about a commercial project that involves them and the house of McDoon, and that they (or, as I should say, we) feel might be advantageous to you and your husband as well. I know that it is not normally considered an appropriate, let alone a decorous, thing for those of our sex to discuss, at least openly, matters of money and business, but—dear Lizzie—we know each other too well to adhere wholly or even in most part to such protocols. Say rather, that we might even delight explicitly in discussing such matters, since I am proud of being a merchant’s niece and grown up in the trade and I know you have never been one to truckle to the opinions of others, especially in matters of pride and prejudice. At least that is how I recall your character, which I should be astonished (and di
smayed) to find much changed since last we met and since your recent marriage—no matter how elevated your status may now be. Am I right in this?
The Gardiners mentioned that you might be in town in a fortnight’s time, accompanied by your new sister-in-law (who sounds lovely—I am anxious to make her acquaintance, if that suits). If so, I insist that you visit with us, and for more than just a cup of tea! Let us regain our former familiarity and revel in confidences shared between us.
With much affection,
Your Sally
P.S. I may have cause—as part of this business I refer to above—to visit the West Country. It involves the procurement of “china clay,” about which I can tell you more in person. I know that you—and your husband—may have reason to visit Bath from time to time;—if so, I could easily contrive to pass through that city in either direction, with the sole purpose of stopping to see you.
To Sir John Barrow, Second Secretary of the Admiralty,
to be delivered in person by Lt. Thracemorton
7th inst.
Sir, with respect and in utmost confidence:
Kidlington remains as glib and effusive as he was when first your man brought him to me, but under his pasquinades and fooleries runs a river of cankerous thought that bodes badly (in my opinion). If he be your tool, then be alert to which edge he applies towards you and your objectives, my lord.
Howsomever that might be, today I write primarily to confirm my letter of the 29th ultimo, viz. my concerns about possible attentions that Kidlington’s activities may have attracted from dubious and insalubrious persons.
I will entrust some of my report directly and in unwritten form to Lieutenant Thracemorton (who has been exceeding competent in the discharge of his duties). For now, allow me only to say that:
a) Kidlington’s old creditors, notwithstanding the full extinguishment and surcheance of all his debts (as you recall, we even had writs of decerniture issued in Edinburgh under Scottish law), clearly retain some interest in his affairs. Quilp, Merdle and others dog his steps, and Tulkinghorn has asked me also about Kidlington, which cannot augur well.
b) Yet odder names are also bandied about, many of them of foreign provenance—some of which those with long memories in London’s commerce will recall with unease, e.g., Coppelius, Prinn & Goethals (Widow).
Otherwise, on that other (but—I am confident—related) matter, the McDoons are taking many and concrete steps to launch, further and realize the Project, the general outline of which I described to you earlier. As I am their firm’s and family’s lawyer I fear I may soon come upon a severe conflict of interest, insofar as the Project is a private commercial matter, the details of which I could not in good faith reveal unless His Majesty’s Government were to issue a decree so authorizing me to disclose such details, specifically commanding me in fact to do so, and waiving any and all liabilities I might incur or damages I might suffer and holding me harmless from any claims brought against me as a result of said disclosure.
I will write again as soon as fresh news comes to hand. Until then, I am your most obedient servant,
—Mr. Sedgewick, Esq.
From Sir John Barrow to Lord Melville,
First Secretary of the Navy
Memorial in greatest confidence,
on the first day after the Shad Moon.
My lord:
I recommend the Admiralty authorize an investment of ten thousand pounds sterling in the Project that is described fully in Special File 16, and that said investment be made through the Honourable East India Company, i.e., in such a manner that the Admiralty’s involvement is indiscernible by outsiders, as this is a matter of National Security.
Treasury will assuredly seek to deny the funding and quash this request, but can be overridden, as well you know. Enlist Lord Bathurst at the Colonial Office to ensure this—I know his Lordship often quarrels with you on issues of policy, especially when it relates to money, but in this instance I think there is common cause to be made against the parsimony of Treasury. Sir Tarleton can help you, if help you require.
My recommendation comes upon the reasoned review of trustworthy evidence brought forth by the Admiralty office responsible for Special File 16. The Admiralty’s interest—financial, commercial and political—will be well safeguarded by said office. In turn, they have placed individuals under their control around the Project itself, so that we can be certain of timely, accurate and actionable intelligence.
I shall come to your chambers tomorrow afternoon with the requisite paperwork, on the assumption that you will be amenable to this request, based on our discussion in person yesterday and this morning.
Your estimable servant,
Sir John Barrow
[Excerpt from the Articles of Incorporation, Association Agreement, and Heads of Understanding and Consent, relating to the Ship Indigo Pheasant, to be built at Blackwall Yards, and owned by several parties as herein defined, as drawn up by Mr. Sedgewick, Esq. on behalf of McDoon & Co., acting as general partner, lead venturer and ship’s husband]
Article 10.Covenants Running with the Ship.
All provisions of the Association Documents which are annexed hereto and made a part hereof, including, without limitation, the provisions of this Article, shall to the extent applicable and unless otherwise expressly herein or therein provided to the contrary, be perpetual and be construed to be covenants running with the Ship.
[... . . . .]
Article 17.Partial or Preliminary Payment for Shares.
A Partner may pay only a portion of his share in the Ship in cash money upon signing of the Articles of Incorporation and Association Documents, provided that the Partner pay at least one-half of his investment in cash money at that time. The balance of the Partnership investment to be made shall be made upon a series of events described and enumerated in Article 18 below, including the Laying Down of the Ship’s Keel, the Final Equipage and Outfitting of the Ship, and the Launch of the Ship. The other Partners, in accordance with the governance and control protocols laid out in Article 8, shall also have the right (upon a majority vote) to demand accelerated and/or immediate payment of some or all of the outstanding Partnership investment balance unpaid.
[... . . . .]
Article 26.Rights of Offerings and First Refusals.
It is hereby agreed that each of the associating Partners (including, but not limited to, the General Partner), in the event that he wishes to sell any part of his share in the Ship (up to and including his full share), must first tender and offer his share to the remaining Partners, at a price that reflects prevailing market conditions, and that only in the event that (within sixty days) no market-prevalent price is forthcoming may the Partner desirous of selling offer his share in whole or in part to another party, that is, a party not already a Partner. Conversely, any Partner obtaining thirty-three and one-third pro centum of the entire outstanding ownership shares in the Ship will have the right to buy out the remaining Partners at a price consistent with the market for such ship shares as it currently exists at the time of so bidding.
[Advertisement in the London Argus/ Commercial News and Price-Courant, during the Week of Meditrinalia, 1816]
BE IT KNOWN TO ALL MEN, THAT THE MATABRUNIAN CONGREGATION HAS JOINED WITH THEIR SISTERS AND BROTHERS AMONG LADY HUNTINGDON’S CONNECTION TO EMBRACE THE PREACHER KNOWN AS BILLY SEA-HEN INTO THEIR MIDST, ALL THIS WEEK AT THEIR MEETINGHOUSES AT RESPECTIVELY THE MULBERRY IN WAPPING, NEAR THE FINCH-HOUSE MEWS, AND THE THREE CRANES IN SHOREDITCH, HARD BY HOXTON SQUARE. ALL ARE WELCOME. NO ADMISSION IS CHARGED.
Dear Family McDoon:
We bring you greetings from the Cape and the Last Cozy House, sent this 14th day of _____ aboard the East Indiaman Lady Balcarras.
[... . . . .]
We come now to the strangest news. Three Chinese persons are staying at the Cozy House, remarkable even for us. They are an emissary from the Emperor himself with two young wards (a girl and a young man). The emissary met Staunton and Barrow
in ’95 on the MacCartney expedition.
We cannot commit all we know about our Chinese guests to paper, for fear that Others might intercept this intelligence, but we want you to know that the Chinese know about Y. and seem to know something of the Project (at least the older gentlemen who leads them).
We think they are somehow important to the success of the Project. The girl is the key. She is a singer. A Singer, comprenez-vous? Please hear us when we say that you should include this girl as part of the Project. Sally will understand this best of all.
All of them enlighten and astonish us with their knowledge of mathematics and water-science and astronomy. They tell us that the Chinese have an encyclopedia beyond any our Diderot or Panckoucke have ever conceived, being 745 (!) volumes, called—as best we can write it in a European tongue—the “Goojin tooshoo zeechang.” They say it contains references to Y!
The girl and her companions seem inclined to stay with us at the Cape for now, but we suggest they come to you in London in the next good sailing season, it being the kentering time now and so unsafe for the Indiamen on the London-bound voyage.
Send us word soonest, while the winds favour the outbound voyage to the Cape from London.
Until then, we are yours in amity,
—The Termuydens
[Excerpt of a letter, on the Shad Moon, from Matchett in London to Frew doing business for the firm in Paris]
Barnabas McD. was in rare form last night at the coffeehouse, had the company in good humour with his tales of the Cape. Sanford his usual laconic self. Something fishy in this, but all in good time, I reckon, and then we will learn the truth from the McD’s or discover it for ourselves.
Curious news: do you recall the affair of the cunning man in Marylebone, back during the Peace of Amiens in ’02 (the vicious Moriarty, how he pressed us)? More to the point, his confederates—the Leipzig firm of Coppelius, Prinn & Goethals the Widow? With peace again after Nap’s fall, it would appear that Coppelius et al. have returned to London. They have opened a comptoir at Austin Friars near Blakensides.
The Indigo Pheasant: Volume Two of Longing for Yount: 2 Page 4