by Edward Carey
‘Not to mention. Cusper shall show you the way.’
The MP bowed at Grandmother, turned and bowed at me.
‘Good morning to you,’ I said.
‘Good morning to you,’ said he, a trace of black smoke coming from out of his mouth and lingering a while after he had left the room.
‘Oh you people!’ I cried, I remembered all now. ‘You dreadful people! You’re making counterfeits!’
‘All must find purpose, all must be kept busy,’ said Grandmother.
‘But these non-people, these un-people … I know how you make them!’
At my exclamation one leather person looked vaguely in my direction, regarded me blankly a moment and then returned once more to its torpidity.
‘Yes, Clod, with leather and stitching and this and that, as you see. Do keep your voice down, or you shall be sent to your room.’
‘You take children, and they breathe into them. How they suffer, the children, because of you!’
‘Now, Clod, are you going to get excited? If you are you must perforce go back to your chamber.’
‘You take the breath from children’s lives!’
‘Why whatever is he talking about?’
‘And ever after leave them empty!’
‘Clod, Clod, what are you saying?’
‘Your tickets, you call them, the children you steal!’
‘Whatever does he mean?’
‘Now, Clod,’ said Granny, looking up and, with an air of irritation, putting her steel needles down, ‘I shall not have you talk of us so. Your own family. Your own people forced into exile. You believe we take children and pull the breath from them and put it in these leather dolls?’
‘Yes, I do. Yes, you do!’ I said.
‘Have you seen it?’ Granny asked.
‘Well.’
‘Well?’
‘Have you?’
‘Not precisely.’
‘You have not seen it then, you have merely heard about it. Someone told you. Someone’s being telling you tales.’
‘Lucy Pennant told me. And the Tailor, Rippit’s birth object, when he –’
‘Of course he did, the meddling letter opener, and of course she did, she would, that’s very like her isn’t it? I’m not in the least surprised by that. Even from her death, even beyond her grave – though surely there can be no such place for such a vermin – even from such a distance, how she influences you. So she told you this filth and you believed it.’
‘Yes! Yes I do!’
Some small muttering from some aunts then, a sigh or two, a snip of scissors, the small sound of leather being punctured by the needles.
‘What a baby, what a cruel baby you are. You’d believe anyone but your own family.’
‘I honestly don’t know why we bother with the monstrous child,’ some other aunt muttered.
‘Should have left him back there.’
‘Should never have held the train for him.’
‘Be quiet, ladies,’ said Granny. ‘Now Clod, listen up and listen good. I’ll not repeat this, for the accusation cuts into me, cuts sharper and deeper than any needle here. You make my soul cry bitter tears. Those unspeakable things, those dealings with children that you have just mentioned – I shall not repeat the accusations – are all monstrous lies. Cruel untruths told by the ingratitude of Foulsham people. People we saved, for as long as we were able. We took up those children and gave them shelter and food, yes they did work for us, good work for which they were rewarded. We did a better job than their parents. We made them into most useful citizens. Did we harm them? No! We fed them. We saved them. We kept them from the Heap Sickness and we nurtured them. We saved them, Clod, saved them by our own goodness, until Lungdon sought fit to murder them!’
‘But how then did these leathermen come to life if not through the children?’
‘Do you really think, oh Clod great doubter, do you really think that if a child breathes into a leather sack that the sack springs to life? No, of course it does not! What nonsense! What childishness! What viciousness! It is Umbitt – much maligned Umbitt – and all his clever ways that does it. Only he, with all his brilliance, that Atlas of Iremongers, who by his great bravery and strength keeps us alive and safe, as hard as that is. With no asking for any gratitude, with no thought for his own self, that man, my husband and my hero, who through his labours, selflessly sacrifices himself for his own family. No matter the pain the effort causes him. No, Clod, it was not any children, it was Umbitt, only ever Umbitt!’
‘It was Umbitt,’ echoed an aunt.
‘It was Umbitt.’
‘Umbitt.’
‘Umbitt.’
‘And what does he get in return for all his great hard work?’
‘Umbitt.’
‘Umbitt.’
All the echoes of ‘Umbitt’ came from the leather people all about.
‘Rank ingratitude!’
‘Only Umbitt?’ I said. ‘What lies! How can you tell such lies?’
‘Umbitt.’
‘Umbitt.’
‘Only and ever Umbitt. And for that, and for saving children, we are repaid by dirty stories, cruel fairy tales, ugly rumours. Which some of his own flesh, his own grandson, decides to believe!’
‘Shocking.’
‘Distasteful.’
‘Vinegar for blood.’
‘I don’t believe you, Granny, not for a moment. I think you hurt those children.’
‘Upon my own ancient heart,’ said Granny, pressing one of her tiny aged hands to her chest and clinking her pearls in the process. ‘Every word I said is all true. These are but dolls, filled with Lungdon rubbish, animated by the genius of your poor grandfather!’
‘Lucy said – and the Tailor – you took their souls from them …’
‘He does not believe us! Even now!’
‘No, Granny, I cannot believe you, I shall not.’
‘What vile and dirty thoughts must fill your swollen head, child.’
‘Better we had died back there in Foulsham.’
‘What ugliness must dwell inside you.’
‘Burnt for our cruelty.’
‘Twisting you.’
‘A disgraceful family.’
‘Turning you.’
‘Such monsters of people.’
‘Against your own kind, your own blood.’
‘Yes, yes, I do stand against my own blood!’
‘Go then, Clod,’ said Granny, so upset now. ‘Go, I release you, go out into Lungdon, find your own way, I shall hold you back no longer. Live amongst whoever you may, take your own crooked path. I’ve done with you. I cannot have such a Joodis Iremonger around my ailing bosom, near my wilting heart, you’ll quite kill me. No, no, Clod, choose this moment – stay here with those that try, day and night, to love you, or go, be gone, thrust forever from our care and keeping. Piggott!’ she cried, pulling the bell cord. ‘Fetch the wretch some shoes!’ Then turning back to me she spat, ‘Take your carcass away from this,’ she indicated her heart, ‘forever!’
She stood up and pointed dramatically to the door, and as she did so, all the leather people stood up and likewise pointed at the door.
‘Sit down will you!’ she said and all the leathers sat down.
‘Sit.’
‘Sit.’
‘Sit,’ they mumbled.
Piggott entered holding a pair of gentlemen’s black lace-up shoes. She looked even more put out than before. ‘My lady.’
‘What do you want?’ cried Granny.
‘You called me, my lady. Shoes.’
‘Oh yes, so I did; in my fury I forgot.’
‘There is something else, my lady.’
‘What else, Piggott? I am most preoccupied.’
Piggott whispered into my grandmother’s ears.
‘I don’t care to know about any Iremonger called Mary Staggs.’
More whispering.
‘What? How?’
Whispering.
‘Clod?’
Whispering.
‘Phidias Collins?’
Yet more.
‘In the flesh?’
Yet more.
‘Downstairs? What, now?’
Yet more.
‘Get it out!’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘Into the city!’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘Lose it fast!’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘Disgusting!’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘And what was the servant’s name, did you say?’
‘Mary Staggs, my lady.’
‘Rat her.’
‘My lady?’
‘Rat her now!’
‘If you’re sure, my lady.’
‘And keep her ratted!’
‘If you’re sure, my lady.’
‘Of course I’m sure!’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘Do it, Piggott, and get beyond my sighting!’
‘Yes, my lady.’
The unhappy housekeeper had scarce left the room when Granny erupted a single syllable, launched from her in both fury and misery, ‘CLOD!’
‘Clod.’
‘Clod.’
‘Clod,’ the leathers echoed.
But then Granny sat down, panting for breath. It was a terrible sight.
‘Oh Ayris, oh daughter,’ she wailed, real tears coming down her face, ‘better that you died! Better that you left us before ever you could see this canker child!’
‘What have I done now, Granny?’
‘You detest us!’
‘Yes, Granny, I think I do.’
‘You despise us.’
‘Yes I do, Granny, for you have done such terrible things.’
‘On the subject of Foulsham children, Clodius Iremonger, let me promise you with every drop of my still pumping blood: you were misled.’
‘Was I, Granny?’
‘You were!’ she cried and indeed she sounded so miserable.
‘Truly, Granny. How can I believe you?’
‘I do swear it, Clod. On all that I have ever loved. On your own dead mother! Lies and rumours! Horrible whisperings. We are a fine people. We are Iremongers, does that mean nothing to you?’ How she sobbed, my grandmother. It was a terrible sight.
‘Not nothing, Granny, oh Granny … I am sorry … I don’t know what to think … I …’
‘You are sorry?’ she said, sitting up and seizing my words.
‘I am very miserable.’
‘You are sorry!’ she said, almost cheerfully. ‘He is sorry!’ she called to all the ladies thereabouts.
‘That’s nice.’
‘I should think so.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Sorry,’ mumbled the leathers.
‘How right that he’s sorry.’
‘So nicely done.’
‘A good child …’
‘Always comes home in the end.’
‘Always licks his spoon clean.’
‘And is grateful.’
‘He said sorry,’ repeated Granny. ‘Oh Ayris, I can almost see your face upon his. As if she’s back again, beside me. He said sorry!’
The leathers all nodded their heads too.
‘Well Granny, that is, I do not think that Lucy could have told me such lies, there is truth there …’
‘Kiss me child, kiss me and make up.’
Such silence in the room then, all those women looking at me.
‘Kiss me, kiss your granny, and all shall be forgotten.’
I stood there, helpless, I cannot honestly say what I might have done, whether I should have kissed the old lady. She ever had such a hold upon me, and perhaps I had even started to advance a step or two, but then, only then, the front door was opened, and people were running into the drawing room, Moorcus leading them.
‘Timfy!’ he bellowed. ‘Oh, Granny! It’s Timfy! Uncle Timfy!’
‘What,’ said Granny, ‘about Timfy?’
‘He’s been got, Granny. He’s been took. He’s been taken. Oh Granny, the police, they took him down. Oh Granny, they followed him, they caught wind of him and pursued him through the streets, and he tried to call out, he tried to blow on his whistle to get help, but the whistle not working he could not do it. Oh terrible! Terrible, Granny. It is the worst thing.’
‘Timfy, our House Uncle, our blood, our child!’ screamed Granny.
‘Timfy, our brother?’ said Idwid, at the door now.
‘Timfy,’ said Moorcus. ‘Taken away by the police!’
All the dummies stood up.
‘Timfy,’ they mumbled.
‘Timfy.’
‘Timfy.’
‘Oh!’ cried Granny. ‘Then we are discovered!’
The Still-betrothed Pinalippy Iremonger
9
SHARP AS
The narrative of Pinalippy Iremonger
Well then, Timfy’s been taken. He always was rather an unnecessary little man, born hapless I shouldn’t wonder, tripped on his own umbilical cord no doubt. Still I should never have wished him taken. Ruffled about maybe, perhaps threatened a bit, bullied back certainly, but then afterwards returned to us.
I don’t feel safe in this house, not any more. I don’t suppose there’s anywhere in all Lungdon where there is safety for such as us. How they hate us, the Lungdon people. It’s an awful thing, their hate. Hard not to take it personally. I look at myself in the mirror. There you are, I say, there’s Pinalippy. All dressed for escape, all togged up and ready to exit, in a nice dress and bonnet, looking just like a lady, just like a Lungdon lady. New clothes, new clothes for our escape. Tonight, the whole family’s on the move. It’s not safe any more, not here, time to move on. So there I am, in the mirror, Pinalippy Lurliorna Iremonger. That is me there, that is. ‘Who is that girl? the people cry,’ I say to my reflection. ‘What a picture!’ She’s not one to be worried about things, never used to be. I can see it now though, in my face, somewhere about the eyebrows. Fear. Now they’ve called for all our birth objects. That’s how serious it has got. All birth objects save Rippit’s are to be given over. Umbitt Owner is taking them all up, he’s looking after them. They must most urgently be kept away from Clod, we are told. Such a sorrow to give my doily to Sturridge to take to Umbitt. Such a pain. I wonder if I shall ever see it again. I suppose if anyone should keep it safe Great Umbitt should, but surely it belongs to me, that dear doily. I feel the wrong weight without it.
I feel so unsteady.
I’m frightened, every moment of every day, I am a little bit frightened. I did feel safe before, back in Heap House. Even after the great storm, even after Moorcus’s bride to be, Horryit, got sucked into the heaps and drowned. Even after that. I thought, well that’s what happens if you’re Horryit, that’s her fate. That’s what happens if you’re too beautiful and such a bitch, you have to pay for it. Not me though, that sort of thing shall never happen to me. Thing is, not so sure now. Thing is, I think I might actually die. And the thing is, the absolute rub of it is, I don’t want to.
I’m eighteen years old.
I’d like to see nineteen, I think twenty might be a lot of fun.
If I can just hold on, if I can just be a little bit lucky, whilst all about me are soiling themselves with their terror.
I’ve got to be smart. Smarter than ever before. Smart as two pins.
Then there’s Clod.
There’s the subject.
I’m to befriend him, they say, and to get him ready. The old woman, she had sent for me and I was sat by her and her great fireplace and she pointed at me, and told me to do it, to go to him and love him, and make him come back to the family. She said it was my duty. How they all did go on at me, all the most senior women, they said to me in their litany, Love him, love him, bring him back. And then they dabbed me with the treacle so that I may trap the little mite in its sweet stickiness.
Well then, I said, I’d do my best.
Trouble is
, he’s not a one for doilies.
Trouble is, he likes a matchbox called Lucy, a common, common little thing.
I stand back and let him cry for her, maybe when he’s done being so wet, when he’s dried up a little, then he’ll see me. I should so like to reel him in, but I must go at it careful. I’ll have him in the end if he matters so very much to them; he’s mine after all, selected for me.
He doesn’t love the doily. Not yet.
I can help that. I can make myself most attractive. I’m a woman. I’ll have him learn that. When it comes time for our escape, the old matriarch tells me, I’m to stick by him, to bring him round, me and Moorcus we’re to go out into Lungdon streets with him. Moorcus has the address of somewhere safe, and there we’re to keep him and encourage him Iremonger. To get him ready for the big morning on Westminster Bridge.
‘What will happen then,’ I ask, ‘on Westminster?’
‘Justice shall happen,’ said the old woman, ‘and all shall be well again.’
‘All shall be well?’
‘If you have him ready, Pinalippy, if you bring him round.’
‘You might give him his own plug then,’ I suggested. ‘That would help, surely.’
‘No it should not, it would be too dangerous. Let Rippit keep his plug safe for now. And let Umbitt look after all other birth objects.’
‘It’s very wrong not to let him have it.’
‘Pinalippy, you don’t know anything.’
‘If you trust him a little, maybe he’ll trust back. That’s all I’m saying.’
‘But he’s not to be trusted. He cannot be. To think of what he did this morning downstairs to one of the servants! No, it is very right that Umbitt has your doily and all those other things to keep all safe, to make him and us safer. If Umbitt doesn’t take your doily, Pinalippy, you may find it growing legs and arms, growing a head and screaming back at you. That is how much Clod is to be trusted. He must trust you though, Pinalippy, he must love you. And through you he must love his family.’
‘Yes, Ommaball Owneress.’
‘Then run along and see to it.’
I know well enough how he’ll come to me. I have the plan. And in all the chaos of our move I mean to do it.
I’ll get him his plug amidst the terror of our escape. I’ll snatch it then, then, oh then I’ll have him, won’t I? It will be like holding his strange unhappy heart.