Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631)

by Wolf, Jack

  “Take your Hand from mine Arm, Dr Oliver,” I said. “Or by God, I shall make you do so. I will go nowhere with you, Sir. I am not ill. I am needed at St Thomas’s, and the longer I delay the worse the Consequences will be.”

  “Sir, do not threaten me,” Dr Oliver said. “I speak to you as a Physician, and as a Friend.”

  “If you speak as a Friend,” I said, “then speak to me no longer of my being ill, and remove your Hand.”

  “As you wish,” said Dr Oliver, and he released his Grasp upon mine Elbow. I studied his Expression. His Concern, that truly I had lost my Mind, was writ plain upon his Features. At once it became as starkly clear to me as Sunnelight that I must escape his Company. Even if he was himself, he was surely an Agent of my Father’s, and his Design could only be to keep me from both my Work and my Responsibility towards Viviane. I bowed, steppt backwards into the busy Thoroughfare, and put my Heels into Flight. The Road was crowded with Horses and other Traffick, but by the Grace of God, I crosst it.

  I did not now dare, after what Dr Oliver had said about apprizing Dr Hunter of his Belief regarding me, approach the Hospital lest I be seized; nor did I think it prudent to return to Bow Street. With a most heavy Heart I bent my Steps toward the River.

  Reaching the northern Bank of the Thames, I sate My Self upon a rickety wooden Jetty out of the Way of everything, and watched the Progress of the Waters.

  “Marry, Madam,” I said. My Voice sounded strange to mine Ears—as if I wept. “Are you come with a Warrant to arrest me? I will go with you, and welcome. I mean to see Justice done; by you, and by my Daughter. If that means mine Head, then so be it. The Blame lieth upon me.”

  A cold, varying Breeze sprang up after a Time; it chilled my Face, but it was not enough to blow away the sour green Stench of the river Mud. My Thighs grew clammy and cold as the Dampe seeped thro’ the thin Linen of my Breeches, and my Back began to ache, but I did not move. I did not mind it. After some while longer, the Noises of the City faded.

  CHAPTER ONE-AND-TWENTY

  Eventually, I was roused from my Coma by the Chiming of some Southwark Church, echoing across the Water. A small brown Rat, who had perched contentedly upon the Tip of my right Shoe, left off washing herself with an outraged Squeak, and skittered safe beyond my Sight. I called to her to wait, and scrambled to my Feet. Staring around me in Surprize thro’ the encroaching Dusk, I remembered suddenly the Appointment I had made to meet with Erasmus Glass and Lt. Simmins in the Shakespeare. My Breeches were quite soaked from my sitting for so long upon the wet Jetty, and I thought must appear as soiled as if I had been a Boat-man at Work about the Quay all Afternoon; my Coat, moreover, had somehow become shrouded in filthy Cobwebs. The lace Cuff of my Shirt reeked of Vomit. I recoiled from My Self.

  The Rat had not stoppt running. She had recoiled from me, too, when she had realised who I was; recoiled from me as did all wild things; as they were wise to do. Only an Hero or a Fool would happily lie with Vivisection, Death, and Bloody Bones.

  “I am so sorry,” I called out. I did not think she heard me. I turned, and steppt briskly away from the black Thames in the Direction of the Garden. Why, I wondered, had Viviane not ordered me to jump?

  When I reached the Shakespeare, I discovered to mine Embarrassment that I had no Money, for my Purse had gone a-missing from my Coat. The Thought struck me that I must have been robbed whilst I was sitting upon the Jetty, but I had seen no Sign of anyone except the Rat, and surely the Jetty would have collapsed beneath the Weight of another Man besides My Self. I felt my Face drain of its Colour; any Thief must have been either a Goblin, or some other evil Scion of the Faerie Race. Mine Hand flew to my Waistcoat, but to my great Relief I discovered Mary’s Sketch still safe; and, tightly folded in front of it, the Letter I had desired to send to Katherine.

  How could it be that I had not sent it?

  Thank God, I thought, that Viviane had not desired my Death! If she had told me: Jump, I should have lost my Katherine, and been lost to her for ever. Whatever my Transgression, and however just its Punishment, how could I have been prepared to abandon Katherine? My Stomach turned cold at the Thought, and my Limbs began to shiver. Afraid again lest I fall down, I fought my Way thro’ the Crowd and sate by the Fire. Tears itched mine Eyes.

  For surely, I thought, Katherine hath not refused me; not in the common sense.

  The Tavern was exceeding full, and in the shifting Mass of Figures I could discern neither Simmins nor Erasmus. I swallowed, my Throat suddenly dry, and scrambled up on to the Seat of my Chair, the better to see over the Heads of the bubbling Crowd. From this high Vantage I was like a God, like a Red Kite poised to dive into a golden Field of August Grain. Far below me, the Tavern seethed like a viperous Pit. What, I thought, are they all Viviane’s Minions?

  No Gypsy, no Raw Head, no Goblin Knight can threaten me here. I will bite off his Head. Viviane hath had her Chance with me; she did not take it; I shall not give another.

  I will protect them all: my People, my Land, mine Home, my Willows, my Sister, my Simmins, mine Erasmus, my Bat; most of all, my Katherine. I shall swaddle them within my Wings, bind them safe within my Circle; and neither Viviane, nor Goblin, nor any other, shall dare attempt Harm to us.

  All of a sudden I perceived within the massed Huddle the Figure of Erasmus, beating his Way thro’ the Mobb with an Hand outstretched. I jumped down from Olympus and threw both mine Arms about his Neck. I was so delighted to see him that I kissed him over and again on both his Cheeks.

  “Erasmus!” I cried. “My dear Friend! But where is Isaac?”

  “Isaac?” said Erasmus.

  “I am sorry,” I said. “I have Vomit on my Sleeve. Where is Isaac? I fear that Viviane will try to steal him from us.”

  “Peace, Tristan,” Erasmus said, patting my Shoulder. “If by Isaac you mean Lt. Simmins, he is here. There are few Redcoats in this Tavern, and it was easy for me to single him out. Sit down, Man; so; there is no Cause for Agitation.”

  “Indeed not,” I agreed. “I am the Kite, who smiteth the Evildoer with one deathly Blow.” I laughed aloud, and clapping Erasmus firm between the shoulder Blades, kissed him once again. Then I sate down again and Erasmus joined me, with only the Table to divide us.

  “Where is Isaac?” I asked.

  Erasmus, in Reply, beckoned into the Crowd, and after a few Seconds’ Confusion, Lt. Simmins steppt out of it.

  “Simmins!” I shouted, springing to my Feet. “Come here, and quickly! You shall be safe from these Curs if we stay together.”

  “Tristan,” Erasmus said, in his quiet Voice. “Listen. It is imperative that you return to your Lodgings. We have been searching for you all Daye.”

  “You have been speaking with Dr Oliver,” I said. “You must not trust his Word. He would have me locked up as an Experiment in St Luke’s.”

  “My dear Friend,” Erasmus said; and there was a Sadness in his Voice. “That is not the Case at all. Your Brother-in-law is at Mr Fielding’s House.”

  “Wherefore?” I said. “What hath happened? She hath not taken her Revenge by harming Jane? I told her I would suffer my Punishment My Self!”

  “Lord, Sir, no! No.” Erasmus came to my Side of the Table and, putting his gentle Hands upon my Shoulders, pushed me down once more into my Chair. “You are urgently required at Shirelands, Sir.”

  “I cannot and I will not go to Shirelands,” I said. “Mine Aunt and her Schemes can go to Hell. I leave for Dorset tomorrow to wed Katherine. I have proposed to her and she hath accepted me.”

  Viviane, beneath the Hawthorns on May Dawn; the Fault is mine.

  “Mr H-art,” broke in Simmins. “The R-egiment is tr-ansferring to Weymouth within the W- W- Sennight; if you wish, I can carry a Letter of Ex-planation to Miss Montague, and c-call upon her to explain the Si-tuation. Surely, the Lady will n-ot obj-ect to what must ul-timately be a short Delay, when the C-ircumstances that demand it are so pressing?”

  “Circumstances be damned!” I s
houted. Then I smiled upon Simmins, who had jumped several Inches backwards. “Truly,” I said, “you are a Blessing to me, Isaac. Todaye I was unable to send the most important of Letters to Miss Montague, for I was waylaid at the Post by Viviane. But now you shall take it.”

  I reached inside my Waistcoat for the Letter I had written, and failed to send; and feeling there several folded Pages, withdrew and presst them into Simmins’ warm Palm.

  “The Address is written,” I said. “Ride with Speed, and do not miss your Way. Miss Montague must not fail to receive this Letter.”

  Simmins unfolded the Papers.

  “Your Father is ill, Tristan,” Erasmus said.

  “This other is no L-etter,” Simmins said. And then, before mine Eyes, he seemed to undergo some eldritch Shift; verily I saw him blink, and blink again, as might a Man awakening from a Spell. “My God, Hart; I have s-een this Ch-ild!”

  “What?” I snatched back Mary’s Sketch, and crushed it deep within my Pocket, before any Faerie could behold me with it. My Fingers stung as if they had grasped a Thorn.

  “Truly, I have s-een such a Ch-ild!” Simmins said. “It was that Sundaye, when we met, Mr Hart, in the Dragon, and I was delayed. I r-emember now. The Highway was blocked at Tyburn by an whole Tribe of Gypsies—one of their People had been hanged the S-aturdaye, and they were out for Blood. They did not want his B-ody to be taken for Anatomy. And s-everal of our Muskets had been f-ired, and all was Sm-oake and Rage; and then there she was—that Child—running towards me out of it all; and I picked her up, for F-ear she should be trampled. How could I have forgot her? Almost weightless, she was, like a Butterfly—and underneath her little Cloak, those W-ings!”

  Simmins seemed as if he could not stop. Words tipped from him like Oil. “Then the Man appeared. He steppt out of the Smoake—a beggarly R-ogue, like all the Rest of them, but with long, silver H-air, like Mercury. And such strange Eyes! Green as Sn-akes, and with such a terrible Look!”

  My Blood caught fire. “Nathaniel!” I whispered.

  “Mr Hart?” Simmins ventured. “I—I am sorry, Sir—you put the P-aper into my H-and. I did not m-ean to touch it.” He was staring at me with a strange, fearfull Expression upon his Countenance, and I suddenly apprehended the Possibility that he had neither Memory nor Comprehension of aught he had told me.

  “It was Nathaniel!” I cried, leaping once more to my Feet. “Where did you see him? Take me there!”

  Erasmus leaned aside, and shaking his Head, said, sotto voce, to Simmins: “Did not Dr Oliver warn us that he must not become excited?”

  “Dr Oliver!” I cried. “What? Do you mean to betray me to him?”

  It was a Trap. A Trap, invented and laid by mine Aunt, and Dr Oliver. Simmins, quite by Accident, had sprung it, and it had closed upon him; and on Erasmus. A yellow Horrour, antient, unclean, uncoiled in the Pit of my Spine.

  “No!” said Erasmus. “No, Tristan, I beg you, listen to me!”

  I had no Time to listen. I had to ride to Dorset straight away; and Nathaniel Ravenscroft was ranging somewhere about the City, my Bat somehow in his Custody; and here stood Erasmus—mine own Erasmus—conspiring with Dr Oliver and my Father to keep me from him. Little Simmins started to his Feet and began to edge away. “No, no,” I said. The Gypsies would steal him. “You, at least, are innocent in this.” My Fingers encircled his Arm, and I dragged him roughly behind me, out of Danger. My Chair broke his Fall. I heard it splinter on the Flags. Then I turned to deal with Erasmus.

  “So!” I shouted. “You would see me taken and contemned! You, whom I have loved as dearly as a Brother!”

  With my right Hand I flipped the Table out of my Way. Raising my left Fist, I sprang towards Erasmus.

  For one painted Second I could see naught but the Expression in Erasmus’ Eyes. Horrour and Sorrow mixt. Then a giant Forehead, ugly and woolly as a Bull’s, loomed startling fast in front of me. Rough Hands arrested my Shoulders. Mine Head seemed to have hit a Wall; mine Eyes flashed white. I fell upon my Knees.

  Within Seconds, before I had any Chance to begin a Fight-back, I had been dragged to my Feet. My Wrists smarted from the sudden Clap of cold Iron. An harsh Voice, which seemed to me as if it might have one Time been familiar, shouted at the Mobb that it must “Clear the Way, Sirs – back about your Business!” and before I had even regained my Vision I found My Self being forcibly marched thro’ the tavern Door.

  The Instant the cold Aire hit my Lungs I was quite awake, and I began violently to resist, screaming to anyone who might hear me to run for the Constable. My Kidnapper cursed as I dealt him a sharp Kick upon the Shin, and his Grip upon me weakened slightly. Quickly slamming back mine Head into his Nose I flung My Self forward to escape him; but he was too strong, and he knew better than I how to fight. We fell hard into the Gutter, he on top.

  I would have opened my Mouth to scream again, but for the Foulness that surrounded it. I held my Breath and struggled with all my Might against the cruel Weight that presst down upon my Spine and Shoulders.

  “Jesus Christ, he’s as strong as the Devil,” panted mine Attacker. I felt a split Second’s Satisfaction at the Thought that he was having quite as hard a Time of it as I; but the Thought passed faster than a Breath. And I could not breathe.

  The Strength of Terrour empowered me. I had no Intention to suffocate in Shit. Despite that mine Hands were shackled behind me, I thrust my Face up out of the Mire and with a great Heave threw the Monster from my Back.

  I scrambled to my Feet. It was clear to me now what this was, this Attack; it was the Murder that I feared to have happened to Nathaniel. The Gypsies loved him; they would forgive him anything, anything; but not me; no, not me. Viviane was not thro’ with me yet.

  Mine Instinct was to run; yet it was plain to me that the Brute would pursue me if I did. I had only one Choice. Mine Hands are chained, I thought, but I still have my Teeth. I will rip out its Throat.

  Somewhere deep within my Skull, the Drums had started.

  Baring my Teeth, I whirled about, and sprang.

  The Brute was bloody-Faced, and huge, and it was ready. An heavy, hefty Blow straightway slammed the left Side of my Jaw, so hard it sent me spinning sideways into the stone Wall of the Shakespeare. My Mouth filled up with Blood.

  “Right, Mr Hart,” came a Voice, and it sounded, for a Moment, half like to that of Saunders Welch. “You’re coming with me. Mr Fielding and Dr Oliver are very desirous of speaking with you.” The Voice was faint; as if it echoed from a thousand Miles away. I felt something hard and unexpected upon my Tongue, a minute Pebble tumbling in a bloody Sea.

  I spat the Object out upon my Knee, where it lay, small and incongruously white against the befouled Cloth. It was mine eye-Tooth. As I stared at it, it seemed to wink.

  The Drumming became louder. It thumped within my Body, a steady, incessant Throb, deafening mine Ears to every single Sound that was not it. My Liver and mine Heart began to quake. I tried to stand, but my Senses were still reeling. I could not control my Limbs.

  Panick consumed me. Not Panick of the Kind that could have given my Legs the Force to leap or my Mouth to scream, but a low, despairing Agony that wrappt mine Arms about my Waist and rocked me slowly back and forth, and back and forth, while the Monster that had stolen the Speech and Appearance of Saunders Welch steppt forward to execute its killing Blow.

  “God help me,” I cried. “God protect us! My Brat and Bat; separated by an R. Thou shalt not kill me, Raw Head. I will not die.”

  I felt My Self being once more roughly seized, and forced to walk; but tho’ I would have resisted, I had not the Strength. All my Fight had deserted me. Mine only Hope lay with the Almighty, if He had not turned His Back upon me in Disgust.

  After some while I realised, to my great Surprize, that I had been brought to Bow Street, and that I was sitting, shackled Hand and Foot, upon the heavy wooden Armchair in the below Stairs Room that both Messrs. Fielding used for hearing Cases.

  Gradually, I became
aware of the Babble, around me, of many different Voices.

  “No!” said Erasmus’ Voice—at least, I thought it was Erasmus’ Voice, tho’ it seemed cracked and brittle. “I demand that Mr Welch be made to leave. He hath treated Mr Hart extreamly ill, and I shall not suffer him to receive any more of the same. Mr Hart is no Criminal, but a Gentleman, and a Genius.”

  “A Gentleman and a Genius, Mr Glass,” came the angry Reply, “who was presently about to take your Head off!”

  “Mr Glass,” came Mr Henry Fielding’s Voice. “I shall reprimand Mr Welch. It will, however, be easier for Dr Oliver to attend to Mr Hart if he is not in mortal Fear whilst so doing.”

  “With Respect, Sir,” replied Erasmus. “I do not perceive that Mr Hart is now like to pose the least Threat to anybody. He is barely conscious.”

  I opened up mine Eyes a little. In the flickering Candlelight I could make out, quite clear, the little Figure of Erasmus Glass, standing bullishly between My Self and the immense Bulk of the High Constable for Holborn. Behind Mr Welch, against the black Doorway, stood Mr Henry Fielding, with Dr Oliver.

  “Erasmus,” I said. My Voice was a Spillikin of itself.

  Erasmus turned, and his Face was filled with such a Mix of Sentiments: Fury, and Hope, and Fear, that I could scarce bear to look upon it. “Don’t let them take me,” I said.

  “Indeed, they shall not,” Erasmus said.

  “Tristan,” said Mr Fielding, in a Tone that seemed to shake the very Timbers of the House. “No one shall take you anywhere without your express Consent. You have my Word on that, as Magistrate, with Dr Oliver and Mr Glass as Witnesses. You are overwrought, Sir, and you have become unwell, and you will either permit Dr Oliver to administer his Treatment or you will be forced.”

  “I am not mad!” I bellowed, beginning to thrash against my Restraints, despite the Pain this caused me.

  “Hush, Tristan,” Erasmus said, dropping before me on one Knee, like a Courtier. “Indeed, and truly, you are not; your Nerves, merely, have become overstrained. You have been studying much too hard. Dr Oliver desires only that you take a soothing Draught, and then retire to your Bed.”