The Deptford Histories

by Robin Jarvis

  Beckett smacked his lips and clutched the bars of his cage in anticipation. For a rat, Heliodorus was really very generous.

  The wanderer grabbed the dried meat in both his claws and sank his teeth into it. “Eats very good,” he mumbled, “nice and tasty—you will like this English, I think.”

  “Don’t forget to leave some then,” piped up Beckett anxiously.

  Heliodorus ground his jaws together as he champed and chewed. A fair-sized chunk remained and he prepared to throw it to his jailed comrade.

  But at once the meat fell from his grasp and a fierce shudder jolted down his spine.

  Beckett peered at the meat longingly; was the other rat teasing him? One look at Heliodorus, however, and all thought of food vanished.

  The black rat was choking. His claws flew to his throat and a horrible squeal issued from his mouth.

  His entire body shook and his tail thrashed madly about the cage.

  “AAARRGGHH!” he yelled. “It blisters, it slices, it tears at me! AAARRGGHH!”

  His bright, black eyes bulged hideously from their sockets and he hopped about the cage convulsed in some terrible agony. Then, to his anguish, every single hair on his body popped out of his skin and fell to the floor. A dense, dark cloud of fur drifted down from the cage as he rampaged and yelled.

  Beckett drew back in fright; he had never seen him do that before. “Ere,” he cried, “what’s got into yer?”

  “Treachery! Murder! Assassins!” Heliodorus shrieked. He flung himself against the bars like a mad thing then collapsed, naked and shivering. Foam frothed from his jaws and he gibbered idiotically. “Grogged up and land ahoy!” he croaked. “Sail on, you laggards, there’s islands to see and stars to steer by.” With his last strength he raised a feeble arm and pointed at the ceiling. The bulging eyes opened even wider as his dying breath rattled in his throat. “Hobb!” he gasped. “Hobb is come!” and with that Heliodorus perished.

  Doctor Spittle screeched with fury. But for his caution that fate would have been his. He snatched up the spirit bottle and the blue light blazed through his fingers.

  “Ha, Spittle!” scoffed Magnus. “Didst thou really believe I would reveal unto thee the secret of the elixir? Oh foolish, credulous mortal—I scorn thee utterly!”

  The alchemist was filled with wrath. “Father of lies!” he roared. “You shall never be released. In that bottle your felonious soul will forever be imprisoned. With or without your help I shall cheat Death,” He thrust the bottle onto a shelf and stormed downstairs.

  Beckett sniffed; the body of proud Heliodorus was already shrivelling. The venom had been potent indeed and his corpse withered swiftly.

  Horrified, the brown rat watched as the skin wrinkled and shrank over the bones. He would miss the defiant traveller. “Wot’ll become of me?” he whined. “There’s just me an’ them cats down there now, I’ll get etted fer sure.” He wriggled uncomfortably then rubbed his shoulder against one of the bars. “Crikey,” he mumbled, scratching himself all over, “why fer does I itch all of a sudden?”

  The last of the fleas that had fallen from Heliodorus’s body leapt across the gulf between the two cages and dived into Beckett’s fur.

  11 - At The Southwarke Mission

  Leech scurried under a heap of parchments, but it was no protection, as he soon discovered. Three sharp pains pierced his tail and he squawked, tearing out from his cover and scrabbling over a brass telescope which toppled from its stand and spun across the floor.

  The attic was dark; only the embers glowed in the fireplace and their radiance was too weak to reach the far wall. Under the low, sloping beams Leech frantically picked his way, stepping from one precarious foothold to another. A ghastly, bloated image reared in front of him, but it was only his reflection in the mirrored globe.

  A mischievous chuckle sounded from below. “You can’t escape up there, Leech,” Jupiter told him.

  The runt chanced to look behind and, sure enough, the instruments of torture were closing fast.

  They were long, sharp pins with pearl heads. Relentlessly they tapped and spiked their way forward, dancing over the obstacles with ease—their eager points gleaming ruddily.

  Leech moaned and pushed on, squeezing onto the ornate shelf that held the large grinning skull.

  Jupiter was practising his magic once again. This time he had cast a simple spell over the pins and the enchantment guided them with cruel intent. To jab and needle was their spiteful purpose and the runt’s posterior their ultimate goal.

  “The charm will pursue you until the task has been achieved,” giggled Jupiter. “You might as well let them catch you for they will eventually. I want to see what a feline pin-cushion looks like.”

  His brother whimpered, trying to squirm past the skull. But there was nowhere else to go.

  Tap-tap-tap.

  The pins came on, jumping with excited skips as they neared the frightened cat.

  Leech’s claws slid out and he struck at the oncoming menace. But the blow was feeble and went wide of the mark; he almost lost his balance and for desperate seconds teetered on the edge of the shelf.

  The glinting points clattered feverishly as though in mockery of his puny efforts.

  On the floor below, Jupiter watched, delighted at the amusement this spell was giving him.

  “Not long now, Leech,” he sniggered. “Two more hops and they’ll have you stuck good and proper.”

  “Jupiter!” scolded Dab abruptly. “Stop it at once!” The tortoiseshell rose from her place at the hearth where she had been sleeping and darted over to him. Her hind leg had not mended properly and she now walked with a pronounced limp. “You mustn’t torment Leech!” she cried.

  Her brother frowned at her. “But it’s such fun!” he laughed, “and he deserves it—he really is horrid. Does it matter if he gets jabbed and pricked just a little bit?”

  “Don’t be cruel!” she said, appalled. “What would Mother say if she were to hear you? It isn’t fair to use your powers to tease him. He isn’t strong you know; stop it at once.”

  Jupiter stuck out his bottom lip. “Just as the game was getting interesting too,” he grumbled. Making a sign in the air with his paw he muttered some words and cancelled the spell.

  The pins above jerked and twitched as the enchantment left them and they toppled to the ground.

  Dab and Jupiter leapt aside as, one by one, they fell, skewering the floorboards and quivering from the impact.

  Leech stared down, his eyes burning like two green lamps that glared at Jupiter angrily.

  The ginger cat padded after his sister. “I’m sorry, Dab,” he apologised, “I was only testing a new spell I found. I never meant anything by it—it was only a joke, honest.”

  Dab went lamely to the hearth where she sat and curled her tail around her. “It isn’t me you should apologise to,” she said, “and I doubt if Leech found the joke very amusing.”

  “Who cares...” Jupiter began but he checked himself; he knew that his mother would. He looked at the empty place beside his sister. “It’s difficult to believe that she’s really gone from us,” he murmured.

  “You don’t have to tell me that,” Dab responded. “Not one moment goes by when I don’t think of her. If only she could have been content to remain here.”

  Jupiter held her paw in his. “Tears won’t bring her back,” he said gently.

  “I know,” she agreed, “but I don’t seem to be able to stop myself. There are times when I hear those awful screams and I can’t shut them out.”

  Her brother hugged her tightly. “Don’t go upsetting yourself,” he said. “She wouldn’t want that now, would she? At least she died out there, free in the wild. That’s better, dry your eyes and I promise to keep a tighter rein on my magic.”

  “You won’t torment Leech?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you, that is a weight off my mind. You two should try and be friends.”

  Jupiter snorted. “But he’s so sneaky
and sly—I don’t want to be friends with him.”

  “He’s your brother!” Dab shook her head exasperated. “I’m weary of you both,” she sighed, settling down to rest. “No wonder Mother was desperate to escape. Ever since I returned I’ve come to realise just how much she had to keep you two apart. Sometimes I wish I had never come back the way you carry on.”

  Jupiter saw the lines of care and sorrow that were already faintly traced upon her brow. Had he really put them there—was he such a trial and a worry to her? Perhaps she was right, maybe he and Leech had contributed to their mother’s unease in the attic. He stared at the floor, abashed and ashamed. Tonight he abandoned his usual place on the alchemist’s chair and stretched out beside his sister.

  “I will try not to bully Leech,” he muttered.

  “Mmm?” returned Dab as she drifted off to sleep.

  A soft hissing came down from above. The livid emeralds of Leech’s eyes pierced the darkness. Jupiter saw him, still balanced on the shelf near the skull. It was an opportunity too good to miss. “I can always start being nice to him tomorrow,” Jupiter told himself, and he closed his eyes and recited an incantation.

  “With all my heart I hate you!” Leech seethed softly. “I despise you with every ounce of my being. Let darkness everlasting consume my soul and fill me with evil power that I might be revenged upon you.” His eyes shone with the malevolence that governed him and so intense was his hatred that he failed to see what was happening behind.

  The large skull shuddered as the magic of Jupiter wove around it and seized control. Very slowly, the wide jaws started to open. A loose tooth rattled from the bone and bounced off the shelf. The noise disturbed Leech’s concentration and he sniffed curiously. “What was that?” he muttered. Then he became aware of the shape that loomed over his shoulder and, with dismay, he wheeled round until he was staring into the cavernous jaws.

  The animal skull lifted into the air and the teeth snapped together, narrowly missing Leech’s nose. He wailed and with that lost his footing. Like a shrivelled slug he dropped to the ground and landed with a crash.

  Dab awoke with a start. She looked about her and guessed what Jupiter had done. The ginger cat smiled sheepishly. She threw him a despairing glance. “Can you never stop?” she said accusingly. “You drive me to despair; if it were possible for me to leave I surely would. You two can battle it out on your own—I’ve had enough.” And she hobbled into a quiet corner and settled back to sleep again.

  Leech licked his bruises and crept out of sight to nurture his malignancy in the darkness.

  The night clawed by, silent and brooding.

  Dab slept fitfully, troubled by dark dreams and visions of Imelza. Her mind fluttered on the very edge of slumber and she uttered forlorn and fretful mews.

  A distant noise wrenched her further into the waking world. Dull sounds clumped about below and on the stairs a board creaked. One of Dab’s ears flicked with irritation. Slowly the key clicked in the crimson door and the handle gently turned.

  Dab stirred and her eyes blinked with drowsiness; the lids were heavy but she forced them to stay open.

  There, silhouetted in the doorway, was the tall figure of Doctor Spittle. He was still dressed and the smell of chemicals clung about his clothes, pervading the air with acrid fumes. The old man’s face was cold and hard, but something about his eyes made Dab shake her head and stumble to her feet.

  “Are you awake—my beautiful, variegated maiden?” crackled his whispering voice.

  She swallowed and edged away—the deliberate menace of his tone was unmistakable.

  The alchemist moved forward and his steps were stealthy and silent. “Would you not like to help me in my experiments?” he breathed quietly.

  Fear overwhelmed Dab as his shadow fell on her. She reached out to wake Jupiter but Doctor Spittle stooped to catch her.

  “Help!” she cried, shuffling backward to escape the hands that came groping for her.

  In his cage Beckett yawned and peered blearily down to see what had disturbed him. Immediately he sensed the terror in the air and he hid his face in his claws.

  “Help!” Dab called again, but the strong hands grabbed her and closed over her mouth so she could cry out no more.

  Kicking and struggling, the tortoiseshell gazed wildly at Jupiter, but he was still fast asleep. The alchemist pressed her close to his chest and, whimpering. Dab was borne from the attic.

  Neither of her brothers ever heard her sweet voice again.

  In the morning Jupiter awoke and for the first time in many months felt cold, for an unknown chill reached in and touched him.

  “Dab!” he called, wondering where his sister had got to. There was no answer and he chewed his lip with concern. A draught ruffled his fur and he looked to see where it came from. The small attic window was open. He ran to it, filled with anxiety; she must have decided to leave after all. “Dab!” he called again, peering over the sill—but it was no use, there was no sign of her. Jupiter groaned and a tear ran down his cheek. “She’s left us,” he said sorrowfully. “It was all too much for her and it’s my doing. She said she would go and by my pride and bullying I’ve driven her away, just like I did Mother,” Filled with remorse he slunk away to where Leech hid in the shadows.

  “Brother,” he said woefully, “our sister is gone.”

  Leech’s eyes flickered open and at once he was watchful and wary. “Then you and I are alone now,” he hissed. “One by one it seems our family diminishes—who shall be the next to depart?” And he purred threateningly.

  “Let us fight no more,” beseeched Jupiter, “for Dab’s sake can we not be friends? For my part I am sorry for the hurts I have inflicted on you and swear never to taunt you again.”

  But Leech scorned his offer of peace. “Never will I find room in my heart for you—vile and treacherous lover of humankind. Go to your master and serve him your platitudes, I desire none of them. For the loss of my sister I shall not grieve, if she is indeed free then I envy her. Never can I depart whilst you remain alive, usurping my rightful power and place.”

  So the rift between the two brothers was not healed and although Jupiter kept to his oath and never again afflicted Leech with his magic, the runt loathed him all the more.

  The months wheeled by but Dab did not return. In the city anarchy reigned and those who tried to leave and flee to the country were met by frightened villagers who pelted them with stones. The churchyards of London were gorged with bodies and the gravediggers could not keep up with the burials. Over the doors of the capital the red crosses spread, until they covered the buildings like a dreadful rash.

  The autumn came and winter duly followed. On a night of November a furtive tap sounded on the window of the apothecary shop.

  Will was not yet asleep and he ran to see who it was. There, peeking through the leaded panes, was Molly.

  Quickly Will opened the door to let her in but she refused and remained standing in the dark alley.

  “I cannot stop,” she told him breathlessly. “I have come to bring you news, that is all,” She paused and he caught her excitement. “I know where Jack Carver is!” she announced.

  “Where?” cried Will. “Did he tell you why they..?”

  She waved him into silence. “Wait,” she laughed, “I have not yet spoken with the man. I only discovered his whereabouts this evening.” From the inside of her plague doctor’s coat she took a scroll of paper and showed it to the boy.

  Will scowled at it; a firm, flowing script covered the page, but he shrugged. “I cannot read,” he admitted with embarrassment.

  Molly tutted. “Never mind. I’ll tell you what it says. I wrote it some time ago—not long after my meeting with Jessel. It is a confession. It accuses old Spittle of paying those two villains to murder my father. If I can persuade Carver to sign it or make his mark then I have something to take before a Justice. I’d dearly like to see that wretched apothecary dance from the gallows.”

  “But what
if Carver refuses to sign? Why should he?—that confession will hang him too.”

  The young woman flicked back her golden hair. “He’ll sign all right,” she said sombrely. “Hanging’ll be too late for him. By the time the assizes come round he’ll have already answered to another judge.”

  Will scratched his head in puzzlement, then he understood. “Your costume,” he said. “Then Jack Carver has the plague?”

  Molly nodded grimly. “That he has and he’ll not be long in this world by what I’ve heard.” She tucked the scroll back inside her coat and gave Will her farewells. “I must go now,” she told him. “I never heard of a corpse signing anything.”

  “Wait!” called Will as she turned to leave. “Let me come too!”

  The woman stared at him then shook her head. “Don’t be foolish,” she said.

  But the boy’s mind was resolved. “I’m coming with you,” he told her flatly and there was no room in his tone for argument. “This matter touches me closely,” he said. “If we succeed then my life of servitude could be ended forever. Besides, I am not going to stay here whilst you confront Jack Carver. He is an evil rogue!”

  “But Will,” she protested, “you can’t go into a pest-house. Think of the danger.”

  “You venture inside those places.”

  “Only wearing these clothes,” she countered. “If you were to go without such protection you would surely die! A pest-house is not a small place, it can hold many people; all the vagabonds and poor folk are taken there.”

  Will did not reply but ran back into the shop and within a few minutes he returned. Over his face he had placed a flour sack, into which he had cut two holes for his eyes. With his gloves on his hands, he was busily trying to stuff a collection of herbs taken from a nosegay into a cone of paper.

  Molly laughed when she saw him and relented. “Very well,” she said, “tonight you can be an apprentice plague doctor.” She helped him put a string through the paper and tied it around his head.