Wormwood

by G. P. Taylor

  ‘Little people should look where they’re going,’ he said in a deep voice and an accent that Agetta had never heard before. ‘It is very late, there are citizens whom you would not like to meet or run into.’ The man gave a gentle smile as he pulled Agetta to her feet.

  Agetta stared at him; he was over six feet tall with a thin face and large green eyes set beneath a black floppy hat. The collar of his coat was turned up against the chill of the night. Agetta tried to pull her hand from his, but he squeezed it tightly.

  ‘So warm, so soft …’ He paused and looked into her eyes. ‘You are a girl who knows many things. For one so young that can be very dangerous.’ The man let go of her hand. Agetta didn’t move; she was rooted to the ground, unsure as to who he was or where he had come from. ‘I see from your face you have a meeting that you must keep, someone who you mustn’t keep waiting. Shall I walk you to your rendezvous?’

  ‘Are you mad, or do you have maggots eating your brains?’ Agetta replied fiercely.

  It was then that St George’s clock beat out the first stroke of midnight from the high tower. Agetta pushed the man aside and ran towards Inigo Alley. The whole of Holborn stopped and looked up to the sky, waiting for another quake. In the distance a ship’s cannon fired and a low rumble of thunder rolled along the Thames. London fell silent and waited. Agetta pressed her way through the people on the street as she ran towards the alley. No one noticed her, no one cared – all eyes were fixed on the heavens. The new moon was high above the town, the sky had cleared and bright white spots of light decorated the universe like candles on a tree. There was newness to its beauty, as if the world had been born again and this was the first night of creation.

  On the twelfth stroke of the clock Agetta turned into Inigo Alley. It seemed even narrower, darker and more sinister than before. The traces of blood still marked the wall. Every stone oozed a sensation of fear. Agetta hesitated in her step and looked behind her. She kept to the middle of the alley and looked about her, constantly ready for someone or something to leap from the shadows.

  The noise from the Ship Tavern filled the alley. Agetta could hear the shouting of men as they gambled extravagantly on the turn of the cards. Their high-pitched laughter made the alleyway even more fearsome as it echoed from stone to stone. The soot-blackened walls of the alley were sodden with thick green damp. From over the doorway of the Tavern a small lamp sent a thin beam of light that reflected from the low mist covering the ground at knee height. Agetta couldn’t see where she placed her feet or if anything was hiding in the ground fog. The light danced around her as the swirls of vapour took on the appearance of faceless spectres. This was the deepest, darkest part of Inigo Alley and Agetta felt very alone as she searched for a message that the lice-ridden old hag might have left behind. She knew that it would be nearby, but didn’t know what she was really looking for.

  The door of the Tavern swung open as a fat old man fell into the cold night air. Agetta hid in the shadows and watched. The man picked himself from the floor and leant against the wall, giving out a satisfied groan as he stood in the ever-growing puddle of his own making. He didn’t notice Agetta standing just a few feet away, and having again the taste for cheap gin, he crawled back along the wall until he found the Tavern door, pulled it open and clambered inside.

  Agetta stayed in the shadows. She knew in her heart that she wasn’t alone. To her right the low mist swirled as if an invisible force walked towards her. Above her on the roof of the Tavern she heard a scratching, like the sound of claws scraping on the old tiles. It was as if an advance guard was taking up positions around her. The cold damp climbed her legs like wet hands grasping at her flesh. All she wanted to do was run, to escape and turn back time. Midnight had passed and still there was no sign.

  Then she heard the clatter of carriage horses pulling hard along the road from Lincoln’s Inn. The sound grew louder as the metal-rimmed wheels ground against the cobbles. In the light from the Tavern Agetta watched as four silky black horses in funeral headdress came into view, striding through the ground mist as if they rode on the clouds.

  Behind them they pulled a fine carriage. The driver sat in his high seat, the collar of his journey coat pulled up, and at the rear stood two footmen with deathly white faces and powdered wigs, their coats trimmed with gold cord and gilt shoulder knots. The carriage stopped outside the Tavern, blocking the exit from the alley. From her hiding-place in the darkness Agetta looked on as the coachman peered around him and then carefully got down from the high seat and opened the door to the carriage and leant inside. She could hear the faint whisper of a conversation. The man turned, dragging his long black coat across the floor as he walked to the door of the Tavern and looked down the alley. He was a small man with in-turned feet that caused him to waddle as he crossed the pavement. He reminded Agetta of a fat, flightless bird she had seen exhibited in the Piccadilly menagerie. His large pot belly pushed out the front of his coat and gave him an air of unsteadiness as he walked. At one point he stumbled and steadied himself against the slimy wall of the alley.

  The man looked long and hard into the darkness. Agetta pressed herself fearfully against the wall, expecting to be consumed by it, taken into the grip of the old hag. The man was feet away and yet he didn’t see her. He turned and shuffled back to the carriage door and again leant in before stepping back and holding out his hand to the single occupant.

  Agetta looked on as a tall woman dressed in a long, black velvet hooded cloak stepped out of the carriage. The cloak glistened in the lamplight and swirled the mist with every movement. The woman wore a tiger mask with thick black whisker spines that jutted out from each cheek. Each stripe was crusted in gemstones, and around the eyes sparkled a rim of blue diamonds. Her long, sallow, powder-white neck shimmered in the half light.

  She looked to the alley and called out: ‘Agetta! Agetta Lamian … I have a message for you!’

  Agetta tried to press herself closer into the wall as the woman signalled to her footmen to come down from the carriage.

  ‘Come out, Agetta, or my men will have to come and find you. I mean you no harm, you can trust me.’ The woman spoke with a fine accent. It was gentle and creamy soft and sounded as if it had never been raised in anger or spoken an unkind word.

  Agetta didn’t reply. Above her she heard the scratching on the tile roof, the sound of a large animal clinging to the tiles with sharp claws. She looked back along the dark alley to Holborn, wanting to run. The street seemed deathly quiet, the sound from the Tavern had hushed. It was as if there was only the woman and her left in the world.

  ‘Agetta,’ the woman said calmly, ‘I will have to go soon and what I have to say is important. Your life and your father’s may rest upon it. I know you are there so come out, girl!’ The woman didn’t wait for a reply; she turned and got back into the carriage. The driver climbed up the front steps and took his seat, picking up the reins in his gloved hands and steadying the horses before he drove off.

  ‘Wait!’ Agetta shouted as she jumped from her hiding-place and ran to the carriage door. ‘I’m here, I’ll speak with you.’

  The door to the carriage opened. Agetta noticed a strange design that she had never seen before on the bright yellow-and-black door panel. It was not the crest of a nobleman that she would often see on the fine carriages that rattled through Fleet Street. The door of the carriage was covered with a large golden sun, inset with a bright red human eye that seemed to pursue Agetta with each step she took.

  From the darkness of the coach the voice spoke quietly. ‘Get in, Agetta. We have to go on a short journey, a journey that will change your life.’

  The woman sounded reassuring. Agetta knew that to get into a coach of a stranger was complete madness. This had been the end for several girls she had known who had disappeared from the streets, never to be seen alive again. She looked back to the alley, and from the roof the cat-like scratching came again. Agetta put her fate aside and stepped quickly into the carriage as
a cold shudder invaded her spine.

  ‘Is it the cold or the fear of the night that causes you to shudder?’ the woman said as she held out a gloved hand to Agetta. ‘My friends have been watching you for some time … They think you can help us, in fact they believe you have what is needed to be one of us.’ The door was suddenly slammed shut and the carriage jolted forwards through the cobbled streets of Lincoln’s Inn.

  A small lamp lit the carriage, its wick smouldering a dark amber glow that flashed off the leather canopy and gold-leaf door. The woman didn’t speak for several minutes. She just stared through the diamond-encrusted slits of her mask, studying every feature of Agetta’s face in detail.

  ‘You have the lips of a liar,’ the woman said above the noise of the carriage clattering through the streets. ‘Do you tell lies, Agetta?’

  Agetta hesitated. ‘Sometimes,’ she said warily. ‘Doesn’t everyone lie?’

  The woman smiled as Agetta tried to stare back at her eye to eye. ‘You have the eyes of a thief,’ she said. ‘Do you steal, Agetta?’

  ‘Only if I want to,’ Agetta snapped back as she looked to the carriage door, thinking that she could jump clear and escape. But the woman kicked out her foot, placing it between Agetta and the door.

  ‘I wouldn’t want you to fall from the carriage,’ the woman said, her voice changed in tone and pace. ‘Well, not yet, anyway. We haven’t finished with you yet.’

  ‘What do you want me for?’ Agetta asked, trying to stay as calm and wishing Brigand was there to rip out the woman’s throat.

  ‘Sit back and listen and don’t think about jumping out of the door and running away,’ the woman said. ‘If we’d wanted to kill you it could have been done by now, you could have been just another street urchin found in the Thames at low tide …’

  Agetta didn’t reply. She studied the woman intently as the carriage rocked backwards and forwards. There was a strong smell of expensive wine, and the fragrance of aniseed. Agetta had smelt this once before, when Blake had left out a bottle of his magical Absinthium. Agetta had looked at the dark green liquid, too afraid to touch it. She had sniffed at the cap and smelt the strong, sweet liqueur that had made her eyes water and stung her nose. Now the fragrance filled the carriage, hanging from the woman’s clothes like a heavy perfume.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ Agetta asked.

  ‘Not far. You are safer in here than in the street. I want you to see the river. It’ll help you to talk.’ The woman rummaged in her cloak, bringing out a silver flask. ‘Do you want some of this? It’ll warm your heart and take away the mist from your feet.’ She laughed as she offered Agetta the thick silver vessel.

  Agetta looked away. She had no reason to trust the woman.

  ‘It’s not poison,’ the woman said as she twisted off the silver cap and put the flask to her lips, taking a large gulp. ‘See, do you think I would kill myself? Take it, we will be friends for a long time. You will have to learn to trust me and this is a good time to start.’ The woman offered her the flask again.

  ‘If we are to be friends then why can’t I see your face?’ Agetta asked as she cautiously took hold of the vessel.

  ‘You might not like what you see. Anyway, it would be better if you only knew me by my nom de guerre, my name of war … You can call me – Yerzinia.’ The woman smiled, Agetta saw her eyes light up behind the mask, as bright as the diamonds. ‘Now, are you going to drink? It won’t harm you; it’ll do you the power of good. It frees the mind, releases the soul and warms the flesh.’ Yerzinia gave a pleased shudder of her shoulders and giggled as she spoke.

  Agetta knew what was about to come. The fragrance from the flask filled her nostrils with its vibrant odour. She hesitated before she put the silver vessel to her lips, knowing that once she tasted it she could never go back. With one drop she would be sealed in the friendship as if they had exchanged an oath of blood.

  Yerzinia spoke as if she knew Agetta’s mind. ‘We will be sisters, I can look after you. You need never worry about anything again. I can set you free from the pots and pans, the scrubbing and serving. Soon you will never have to take a meal to a Newgate prisoner again.’ She paused and smiled again. ‘I know you don’t like the way they stare at you. Take, drink to a new life.’

  Agetta kissed the flask and drank the thick liquid. At first the fragrance danced across her tongue as she drank back the large mouthful. Then it began to warm her throat with its aromatic and mysterious taste that she had no words to describe. Agetta leant back for the first time and relaxed into the soft leather of the coach seat. The carriage rocked her like a ship at sea as the warming essence charged through her body, setting every nerve on fire and filling each muscle and sinew with new life.

  Agetta felt more than alive as waves of pure joy washed over her. She had an overwhelming and tangible feeling of love for everything around her. Quickly she drank again, trying to swallow as much as she could in one mouthful, hoping that it would never end, that each drop would take her higher and higher.

  Yerzinia slipped across the carriage and sat next to her, taking the flask from Agetta’s hand and drinking some of the liquid herself. ‘I remember it so well. You will never forget the first time you drink Absinthium. It has a magical power, it changes the soul and sets you free like a soaring eagle.’ She took hold of Agetta’s right hand and pressed her thumb into the palm. It began to burn as she pressed harder. Agetta, numbed to any pain, saw wisps of smoke leap from her skin and dance through the air like marsh imps. She cared not.

  ‘Remember, Agetta, happiness and pleasure are more important than the will of any god. Tonight you come of age. Tonight you will live for yourself and not for your father or Sabian Blake.’ Yerzinia lifted Agetta’s hand to her mouth and blew on her palm. ‘You have done enough in your short life to have your neck stretched by the Tyburn gallows more than once. I can save you from that. Stealing is for fools and you will soon find that another world will open to you, one that you once believed could never exist.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Agetta asked as if she were talking to someone in a dream, unsure if she had said any words at all.

  ‘You will know soon enough. It will come to you in a thought, an imagining that never leaves, a desire that has to be obtained, and a longing that can never be satisfied. Then you will know what to do, and we will meet again … soon.’

  With that the carriage lurched to a halt, jolting Agetta from her seat. A footman jumped down from the carriage and opened the door. Agetta looked out to the dimly lit London street. She could smell the river and hear the cry of the boatmen shouting for their last trips. A street warden called out that it was one o’clock and that all was well as he tapped his staff along the wall.

  ‘London Bridge,’ Yerzinia said softly. ‘There is a man here who you should meet. Come here on Sunday morning before you go to Blake’s, and find the shop of the bookseller. He has something for you, something that you will need.’

  The footman held out his hand and helped Agetta from the carriage, quickly shutting the door and jumping back on to the carriage. With the click of the lock the driver thrashed the reins and the coach rattled over the Bishopsgate cobbles, the four black horses in their funeral plumes beating out a trot with their metal-shod hooves, sparking against the stones.

  Agetta was alone. The Absinthium waned like a setting moon, its power ebbing as Yerzinia’s carriage faded in the distance. The night felt colder than before. Agetta huddled the shawl close to warm her chilled bones. She looked at her hand that now burnt like a hot scald. In the middle of the palm was a blackened thumb print that severed the life line. Agetta spat into her hand and rubbed the mark with her thumb. It burnt more intensely, growing in size before her, taking the shape of a large red eye etched in black. The pain pulsed with each heartbeat. Agetta quickly wrapped her hand in the apron, pressing the damp material into the wound as she set off unsteadily fom London Bridge to Bishopsgate.

  5: Burnt Wings and Periwigs


  Cadmus Lamian sat at the long table and stared into the fading embers of the fire as it clung to its final moments of life. Dagda Sarapuk was slumped in a large wooden chair by the hearth. He dribbled frothy white bubbles down his long thin chin as he snored. A secret breeze scattered the dust across the stone floor of the refectory and wafted the candles that lit the room from their high place on the mantelpiece.

  ‘You’re not one for conversation, Sarapuk,’ Lamian snarled as the gin rattled in his throat like some thin toad gulping for breath. ‘Thought you’d at least stay awake until I had finished what I was going to tell you.’ Sarapuk slept on, his head rolling from side to side as if troubled by the visions of his tormented dreaming. ‘It’s mighty stuff, not of this world. The sort of thing to lift you from the pit of this life with its leeches and lice, bloodletting and pox.’ Lamian slapped the back of his arm, then picked the blood-fat lice from his skin with the precision of a man who had done this a thousand times before.

  ‘I even brought you a feather, thought I would show it to you as proof.’ He fumbled drunkenly as he brought out a long white feather from the inside pocket of his coat. Lamian held it up to the flickering candlelight and stared through the white beauty that in the darkness of the room glowed with a brilliance beyond this world. ‘What’s the good of having a secret and keeping it to yourself, I ask you? Here I am, a simple cook with an old lodging house, and yet upstairs, locked away from humanity, I am the keeper of such a beauty the world has never seen. But who can I show it to? Who can I boast with? That’s the trouble with secrets – they’re no good unless you can break them.’

  Sarapuk grunted a reply, murmuring the words of a forgotten song in his half sleep. ‘Purge me with hyssop … that I may be clean … Wash me and I shall be whiter than the snow …’