Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631)

by Wolf, Jack

  This Information was so unexpected that I was forced to look away from my Work and stare at Nathaniel. For the first Time I took in the delicate Embroidery upon his green velvet Frock, the smart Cut of his silken Breeches. His natural Hair lay in perfect Rolls about his slender Neck, and he wore his new Hat. He was not carrying a Cane; instead, he wore a small, silver Sword upon his Hip. The ornate, complicated Hilt gleamed like wrought Sunnelight atop its finely tooled Scabbard. On his opposite Thigh, beneath the Folds of his Coat, he seemed to be carrying something that resembled an hunting Horn. Under his left Arm was tucked the small skin Drum he had traded from the Gypsies.

  “What the Devil?” I said. “Did you say Ridotto or Court?” I began to be intrigued, despite mine Intention not to be. “The Landlord will not bill you for this? I imagine he is not well pleased.”

  “Indeed; he is a miserly old Fart. But he was somewhat relieved.”

  “How so?”

  “Because he had placed himself in an invidious Position, my dear Tris; he had agreed to owe me a Favour without first stipulating what Form that Favour should take.”

  I frowned. “A Favour? Why should that worry him?”

  “Because I could have asked him for anything, Tristan. Anything.”

  “He could still have refused, if ’twas unreasonable. What did you do to get the Cully in your Debt, anyway?”

  “He would never have dared to refuse,” Nathaniel said with a Laugh. “But what I did for him is a Secret betwixt us; ’twould be against the Rules for me to tell it.”

  “Then you are too damned secretive,” I said. “And most of the Time speak Gibberish. Tell me, why should I attend this Assembly of yours when I could be dissecting my Rat?”

  “Because Margaret Haynes will be there.”

  Margaret Haynes was the Innkeeper’s oldest Daughter. Dark Haired, bright Eyed, and a considerable Beauty, she was the prime Envy of all our local Belles. She was also the Woman who had initiated me, two Months previously, into the Mystery of intimate Intercourse, and she had lately begun to drill me in the Procedure’s Methods. “It ent enow,” she had said, “that you knows how to fuck. Every Fool knows how to fuck. You needs to learn how to make my Cunny glow.”

  I did not imagine myself in love with Margaret; indeed, I knew that I was not. But I appreciated the Affection she shewed me when her Father was not nearby, and I did my best to reciprocate it as far as Propriety and mine own lack of Confidence would allow. I also knew that she was not in Love with me. I was a Gentleman’s Son and a Greenhorn, and Margaret Haynes had too much Wit to dally for long with either.

  When Nathaniel said that she would be in Attendance at his private Party, he did not, naturally, mean to imply that she would be present as a Guest. Margaret would be there in her Capacity of serving Wench, to ensure that the Wine and Merriment kept flowing.

  “You both could slip away to a quiet Closet at some Point during the Evening’s Festivities.” Nathaniel said. “Margaret Haynes on May Eve, and almost under the very Nose of her demented Da, to boot.”

  It was a delightful Image; and yet, not intirely compelling. I did not know precisely why. But I did know, silently, within My Self, that as fond as I was of Margaret Haynes, there was something missing from our Intercourse; and I suspected just as silently that no matter how brightly I made her Cunny glow, I would not find it. I did not even understand what it was. It was a distant, unformed, nameless Thing.

  Yet, I thought, what kind of Man would that make me, if I were truly to prefer the Idea of pickling twelve rat Foetuses to fucking Margaret Haynes?

  “I shall change my Cloathes,” I said.

  * * *

  The Bull was a Coaching Inn situated at the Crossroads two Miles westward of the Village, slightly less than that Distance from Shirelands. It was popular with our Tenants, and with People from the outlying Hamlets for whom two Miles’ drunken Stagger home from the village Inn was not an acceptable Prospect. It was a dark, brooding Building constructed out of foreign Stone and black Oak sometime during the fourteenth Century. Beside the heavy Door swung a single brass Lanthorn, its low Candle casting a guttering Glow upon the Latch. Tiny leaded Windows squinted at the Road from the Bedchambers above the Tavern, while at the back lay the Kitchen, and above this, the larger Room Nathaniel had borrowed for the Evening. The Stables lay to the rear, beyond the flagged and slippery Yard.

  I climbed down carefully from the Rector’s Chaise, of which Nathaniel had also the Use for the Time, and tip-toed around the Shit and Puddles to the back Door. Nathaniel handed the Pony to the stable Lad and promised him an extra Coin if he saw to it that the Animal received a Rub down and a Feed of warm Oats.

  “He hath a long Night’s Work ahead of him later,” Nathaniel said. “Let the poor Bugger rest well while he may.” He stroaked the Pony’s white Muzzle and the Creature pricked up its Ears, as if it could comprehend him.

  Nathaniel released the Pony and leapt across the Yard with such sure Footsteps it seemed he were flying. “No,” he said, taking mine Arm. “No sneaking in thro’ the back Door for us tonight.”

  He led me around the Mud to the front Door of the Bull. The Clouds above us parted momentarily, and some weird Instinct impelled me to look around, tho’ I could hear no Traffick. The Roads extending away on every Side of us seemed thick, black Ribbands betwixt the open Fields that glowed near grey in the weak Illumination of the Moon, which had just entered on its final Quarter. On the opposite Side of the Crossroads I could just distinguish the white Arch of the Way-Stone, yellowing faintly in the Lanthorn light, its Script invisible. I glanced back to Nathaniel. For one Second—and it cannot have been longer—his Eyes made a sharp, glittering Connexion with mine, and the intire World about us both fell as silent as Starlight. The Cold sparkled upon my Skin.

  Nathaniel was a clock Spring, wound too tight; every Muscle in his beautifull Face screamed desperate Release. I thought I recognised his Expression. I thought it had, three Yeares ago, been mine. Thro’ the Silence, I could hear the frantick Ticking of his Heartbeat, Seconds drumming past like fleeting Cavalry.

  “The only Way out is to smash the Clock,” I said.

  “I know it,” said Nathaniel.

  Then there was Noise again; loud Carousing, and drunken Spirits from within the Tavern, the Fluting of an Owl from somewhere on the Road.

  Nathaniel opened the heavy oaken Door, and the Moment drowned in a Surge of tallow-Light and Smoake and Racket. He turned and grinned at me, himself again, his Eyes afire with mocking Laughter.

  “Come, Tristan,” he said. “Let us make such an Entrance that these rustick Curs will never forget it, should they live an hundred Yeares.”

  Nathaniel steppt forwards over the door Sill into the Inn. I followed, bowing my Head low as I passt underneath the mediaeval Lintel. The Room within reeked of old Sweat, Dogges, dark Ale, and burning Coal. Pipe Smoake coarsened the Aire into a brown Funk that spiralled slowly towards the low Ceiling and clung there like Treacle. I coughed, and tried, hopelessly, to wave the Fog away from my Nostrils.

  “Friends, Yokels, Countrymen,” Nathaniel began, sweeping portentously into the Centre of the Room like James Quin, full of Gravity and Bombast. He stood still, poised expectantly for Silence between the Inglenook and the Bar.

  To mine Amazement, he was given it. Every Face in the Tavern turned towards him, every Voice immediately hushed.

  “I stand before you this Night,” Nathaniel said, “not as a Gentleman, but as a Man, mortal and perpetual as ye. This Night, in the Eyes of God and Devil and Faerie Queen, we are all equal in Aspect and in Truth. This Night, the Veil thins, and Men and Spirits walk the Earth in Parity. Who shall dare to sunder that which is one? Who shall draw the Line betwixt the Angel and the Beast?”

  Not a Soule moved. The intire lower Floor of the Bull Inn was staring at Nathaniel in Astonishment, Mouths dropping open. I struggled to maintain my Countenance.

  “If none shall speak,” Nathaniel said, “let there be Joy
unto this House! Mr Haynes! A Tankard of his Choice for every Fellow here!”

  The Locals understood that. “Egad, Nat,” I said, suddenly alarmed.

  Nathaniel put his Hand into his waistcoat Pocket and withdrew a small silken Purse tied with a golden Thread. He threw it casually to the serving Wench—who was not Margaret—whose Surprize was such that she fumbled the Catch and almost droppt it.

  “Drink and be merry!” Nathaniel cried. “Tomorrow we may all be dead. And all I shall ask in Return is that if someone should ask: ‘What of Nathaniel Ravenscroft?’ you will speak well of me.”

  The young Betty stared at the silk Purse within her Hand, and with clumsy Fingers began to pick apart the golden Knot. I watched her Expression, as Greed succeeded unto Amazement. She looked up at Nathaniel, smiling, like a Kitten got among the Cream, and a low Chear rumbled round the Tavern.

  I steppt up beside Nathaniel and looked at him in Disbelief. “What in Hell’s Name are you doing, Nat?”

  “Settling my Debts. Now there is none to whom I owe a thing.”

  The Hubbub had started up again, as with much Jollity, the Wench had fetched her small brown Jug, and was busily refilling the Tankards of all who asked her. Nathaniel took my Elbow again, and we presst thro’ the friendly Mob towards the Door that led to the Kitchen, and the Stairs. “That Tosspot, over there,” Nathaniel said, opening the Door, “believes that I impregnated his Daughter, whom I have never met. I know not who got the Wench with Pup but ’twas not me. Ha! There’s an Irony! This Bully, hard by the Pillar, holds me responsible for the Deaths of several of his finest Cattle. That other Pissmaker with him insists that I can summon Thunderstorms.”

  “You jest,” I said.

  “I do not, Tris. The Mind of the English Peasant is a curious Thing.”

  “They are happy enough to quaff the Ale you buy them.”

  “As I said, curious. And not always very clever.”

  “What do they say about me?” I asked him.

  We mounted the Stairs.

  * * *

  The upper Chamber at the Bull was not often used for anything but the Sessions of the local Assize Court. The Inn was too distant from our local Towns to host publick Assemblys, and the Stile of the Room was almost as rustick as the lower. The Walls were white with lime Plaster, but that was the only substantial Difference. When Nathaniel opened this final Door, however, I was at once bathed, not in tallow-Light, but in the clean Brilliance of many waxen Tapers. The Scents of Hyacinthus and Daffodil melded with the sweet Perfume of apple Smoake and some other, sharper Fragrance I could not recognise. The narrow cup Boards along three Sides of the low Room had come alive with Flowers. Crimson Tulips, yellow Daffodills and golden Irises billowed from blue porcelain Planters, which sate at each End of an intertwining Banner of Blackthorn, Apple, and budding May that arched over the Table, where rested the Punchbowl and the Glasses. There were more Petals, too, blooming about the Chimney-piece and the Hearth, where a large apple Log was blazing. Above the whole carried the clear Voice of a Girl, her Singing pure and wistful as a mistle Thrush.

  I steppt forwards in Wonderment, looking around the Room.

  “Don’t ask,” Nathaniel said.

  The Room’s Benches were already crowded with Nathaniel’s Friends. Many of these were utter Strangers to me – Nathaniel had as many Acquaintances as there were Coneys on the Downs. I noticed, without Surprize, that not one Person here seemed to be above the Age of five-and-twenty. Nat’s Admirers, I thought. Every young Man of our Station wanted to be Nathaniel Ravenscroft. When he changed the Colour of his Coat, so did the Neighbourhood. The Women, or at least the ones I recognised, were the young Wives and Sisters of these Wags; some of them unmarried, and some out, I was sure, without Permission or an appropriate Chaperone. I could never have commanded such a Crowd.

  Next to the Fireplace stood a small Group of Musicians, and I quickly realised that the Girl whose Singing I could hear was the Foremost of these. They were not Locals, nor were they from Faringdon or anywhere I would have known. They were Gypsies.

  “This is too much—where did you find them?” I said.

  “On the Ridge Way.”

  “And they have agreed to play for you?—Oh, but you have traded something for their Services, have not you? Not the Pony?”

  Nathaniel laughed. “These good Folk are here of nothing but the Love they bear to me. I have claimed Kinship with them these three Yeares, and more.”

  “But by Hell, Nat,” I said. “They will never do something for nothing.”

  “Kinship, Tris.”

  “You are Kin more to me than to any bloody Gypsy.” I was suddenly angry, but unable to understand wherefore.

  “You are more my Brother than my Brother,” Nathaniel said, looking straight into mine Eyes. “But you cannot play the Fiddle or the Flute. Put your Anxieties to Bed, Tristan; no Harm will come to either of us here. Look, there is your Margaret, dresst as pretty as you please and glancing over in our Direction. She adores you; ’tis a Fact.”

  “She trifles with me, merely.”

  “Then she does only as you do. ’Tis May Eve, Tris; go to.”

  Nathaniel was not to be resisted, so I did, despite my Misgivings, go to. Nathaniel joined marvellous Play with the Musicians upon his Drum and their Strings, although when he was not so engaged he found the Time to enchant every one of his Guests with his rare Manners and exceptional good Looks. I reached into my sociable Etui and extracted Charm. I was polite, witty, amusing. I drank more than my fair Share of Punch and made meaningless Conversation with Nathaniel’s Hangers-on. I danced Greenwood and Chirping of the Lark with several of the Wives and Sisters, including those who had not been invited to stand up with anybody else. Margaret dragged me off to a vacant Chamber at about half-past Midnight and did her best to wear me out before kicking me back to the Assembly at a quarter to two.

  I was shamefacedly aware of the Figure I must cut—my Shirt disturbed, my Breeches unlaced—but to my Shock I quickly understood that I was not the only Gentleman in the upper Room in such a State. The Gypsy Musicians had ceased their Playing. The wax Candles, having been allowed, in the Absence of Margaret, to burn down, had grown dim; and in some Corners of the Room, Darkness prevailed intirely. Within its Penumbrae, I could discern vague Human Shapes, writhing about upon one another like Serpents.

  I had never visited a Bagnio, but the Scene before me was such as to put me compleatly in Mind of one.

  “’Tis a Debauch,” I said aloud, in Wonderment and exquisite Horrour. Then I thought: Where is Nathaniel?—and before I could stop My Self, for I knew that Nathaniel would certainly be busy in the darkest Corner with the prettiest Girl—I shouted: “Nat!”

  Several Seconds later—it may have been a full half Minute—Nathaniel materialised out of nothing at my Side.

  “What Devilry is this, Nat?” I demanded. “’Tis an Orgy.”

  “Indeed, ’tis not,” Nathaniel said.

  “Should I disbelieve the Evidence of mine own Eyes?”

  “Look around you once again.”

  I did so; and as my Vision became accustomed to the warm Dimness I began to perceive more properly those Figures that had seemed twisted and uncertain. One Couple, whose lower Limbs I had seemed to see entwined in strenuous Congress up against the farthest Wall, stood innocently together in plain Conversation. A second, who had appeared to be likewise engaged upon one of the low Benches beside the Table, sat now quietly listening to the Opinions of a third, whose Presence I had not noticed at all.

  “I thought I saw them fucking,” I said.

  Nathaniel stared at me.

  “I think I had ought go home, Nat,” I said.

  “Then I shall accompany you,” Nathaniel said. “And we shall take our Revells with us. The Party here is ending, anyway. I have given enough of My Self to these poor Ingrates for one Evening. We shall raid your Father’s wine Cellar and watch the Sunne rise from the Steps of Shirelands Hall.”

 
“Gladly,” I replied. “Where are your Gypsies? Are they gone ahead to wait upon the Road and rob us as we pass?”

  “No, Tristan. You are too suspicious. The Brothers are gone to the Stables and the Sister is here. Do you not see her?”

  Nathaniel indicated the Seat nearest to the dying Fire, and suddenly, almost it seemed because he had shewn me where to look, the Girl appeared.

  I had not seen her clearly before. I had only heard her Song. Distracted by the general Excitement of the Assembly, I had taken a fleeting Impression of some Body small and dark, and not particularly handsome. Now that I had the Chance to examine her more closely, I could tell that she was, in Truth, very beautifull. Her Hair was in its every Strand as black as mine, but it shone in the coal Light like the Sky shortly after Dusk, reflecting Shades of deepest indigo. Upon her Ears, which were pointed, almost like a Cat’s, she wore seven golden Hoops, that clashed and glittered as she turned her slender Neck and looked upon me. Her Skin was as white as Indian Ivory. I caught a flash of blackthorn Eyes framed by long, heavy Lashes. For a Second she gazed right at me. Her Lips were Blood bright as they parted; I could see her Teeth, perfect white, sharp as Nathaniel’s.

  About her Shoulders, she had pinned a black woollen Shawl fringed with scarlet and gold. Her Gown was the Colour of Chalk, and embroidered with an intricate Tracery of Leaves and Flowers.

  “What is her Name, Nathaniel?” I asked.

  “You must ask her yourself. I am not at Liberty to give it. I shall offer you a Word in Warning, tho’; do not give her yours.”

  “As if I were in the Habit of telling my Name to Gypsy Sluts,” I said, although I could not in all Honesty guess what Nathaniel was trying to imply. “But she is uncommon handsome.”

  “She would be happy to return to Shirelands with us.”

  “Egad, yes,” I said instantly, without thinking. “Oh, but what of her Brothers, Nat? They will never permit it.”