Irregularity

by Nick Harkaway

  Made myself ready presently, and to the Tower, and got up on one of the high places, Sir J. Robinson’s little son going with me, and there I did see the terrible sight for the first time: not an inferno as we would know, but a ragged circle of darkness stretching from the waterside as high as Grace-church Streete. Inside it was a very pure kind of black, and only at the edges did it seem to have substance: where it moved and sparkled like a pale gas flame. I could see houses at this end of the bridge half eaten by the Black Fire; not charred or smoking, but simply vanished; and this troubled me. Robinson’s son, too, was very troubled. Many fire ships floated above, and dropped great scoops of water from the Thames, but these deluges simply vanished into the breach; and where pumps were used by men upon the ground, their streams finished abruptly where the Darkness began. We saw that the Darkness had eaten away the supports of the bridge, and it was near collapse, with many people still fleeing over it to safety. Nothing was immune; the very stones of churches vanished before our eyes. I wondered how the simple people would react to this menace: those who start at comets or eclipses, or think the barking dog nearby portends their death, and who have now to contend with a black shadow devouring their City.

  So down again, with my heart full of trouble, to the Lieutenant of the Tower, who tells me that it began this morning as a small vortex contained in the storeroom of a baker’s house in Pudding-lane. The baker said he thought it was some kind of new mould. The family retreated upstairs, and were trapped, but managed to climb from a window to the house next door, except for a maidservant who was too frightened to try, and became the first victim of the Darkness, having fallen into the hole and vanished with not even a scream.

  So I down to the water-side, and there got a boat, and on the water saw a lamentable sight: houses as far as the Old Swan already taken, and the Abyss running on, that in very little time it got as far as the Steeleyard. Along the banks an army of people trying to save their goods. Some flung them into the river, others brought them into lighters that lay off on the Thames. Poor people stayed with their houses till the very darkness licked the walls away, and it was like magic: timber, brick, even steel melting like mounds of sugar in the rain, vanishing with no dust, noise or heat. Still the airships hovered above, their hoses and scoops hanging useless, and like me helpless to do anything but observe.

  Having stayed, and in an hour’s time seen too many dreadful things, I to White Hall, and there up to the Kings closet in the Chappell, where I did tell the King and Duke of Yorke what I saw: how the Black Fire rages calmly every way, senseless to our hysteria, and nobody, to my sight, has a mind of how to quench it, but only to save their goods, and leave the rest to the Darkness. The King said it seems on the face the Devil’s work; I said more likely it is the work of some black science, and said so without mentioning young Fernod, or the French experiments in Darke Materials, as did not wish to fan the flames of rumour. Could offer nothing more, but told how the Darkness appeared to go more slowly where it was not fed, and how it had stalled at the Thames, sated by the volume of water pouring in. The King commanded me to go to my Lord Mayor and tell him to spare no houses, but to pull them down before the darkness every way.

  So to Paul’s, and there walked along Watling-streete, as well as I could, every creature there coming away loaden with goods to save, and here and there sicke people carried off in beds. In places people tried to save their possessions, while in others, for no obvious reason, they hurled things into the Abyss. People had stormed the churches to seize relics, and they ran back to fling them in the pit, crying, “Take mercy on us, Darke One!” and such. I saw one woman, stricken with madness, hurl a baby in, crying as she did: “Only pure souls can fill his hunger!” It was a mania such as you would never see from fire, which more often in Londoners inspires a kind of secret worship. Some thought to try to burn the black material away, and in doing so started a number of fires which quickly spread, and woke the fireships from their gloomy slumbers. But they were not as effective in battling the flames as the Darkness: which, where it touched the fire, vanquished it. I saw a boy who had reached out to touch the glowing hem of the pit, while his Mother was turned to their belongings, and his arm was eaten clean away to just above the elbow, and the mysterious fire had sealed off the wound so there was no bloode, but much screaming from the boy. There were a number like this I saw. A woman set on fire fainted and was eaten by the creeping Chasm, and her husband was heard to say it was a mercy. A large fire soon was up in the east, but the wind shifted, and pushed the flames back against the hungry Darkness. Soon the black circle was ringed in smoking red.

  At last met my Lord Mayor in Canning-streete, looking like a man spent, with a handkerchief about his neck. He had not come when called about the small hole in the baker’s house, as he had thought the man drunk. To the King’s message he cried, like a fainting woman, “Lord! What can I do? I have been pulling down houses; but the darkness overtakes us faster than we can do it!” So he left me, and I him, and I walked home, seeing people fleeing still, and not looking where they were running, some stumbling blindly into pits where the Darkness had come around in silent rivers and overtaken them. The houses, too, so very thick thereabouts, and full of matter for eating, were as pitch and tar to a fire.

  I to Paul’s Wharf, where I had appointed an airship to attend me, and took in Mr. Carcasse and his brother, whom I met in the streets, and carried them above to see the Darkness, which had now got rapidly further. The sky over London was filled with clouds of spectator ships, and it was chaos, with many terrible collisions. A considerable fleet of navy ships had been assembled to destroy the buildings around the Darkness with explosives, but the great unknown was hungrily eating the debris left behind, and there looked from here to be no likelihood of stopping it expanding. Below, a mob found themselves trapped against the Wall with the Darkness coming at them. Several grabbed ropes which dangled from a fireship, and made to climb up, but seeing this more people came, and the mob succeeded only in pulling the ship to earth, and all were swallowed by the Darkness. Carcasse wept. We saw how the Darkness had eaten right to the edge of the river, but there it stopped, unable to move across the water. The water from the Thames flowed into the blackness in an unending torrent. “Will it eat the whole river!” cried Carcasse. Could not take his mania, so went down, and to an alehouse where I met my wife, and we watched the river full of lighters and boats taking in goods, and goods swimming in the water, and being taken slowly into the unnatural Darkness. It having grown naturally dark while we watched, we all departed for home, and I to bed after a small supper alone.

  Monday 3 September 1666

  About four o’clock in the morning, my Lady Batten sent me a cart to carry away all my money, and plate, and best things, to Sir W. Rider’s at Bednall-greene. Did this by moonshine. Then rode in my nightgown in the cart. And Lord! To see how the streets and the highways are crowded with people running and riding, and getting carts at any rate to fetch away things. I found Rider tired with being called up all night to receive things from friends. Then home, with much ado to get away the rest of our things, and little rest to be had.

  Then to my tailor, Mr. Langford, who has made me a new black cloth suit and cloake lined with silk moyre, and it is so black: as black, almost, as this Darke Material. Then away to meet with the King, Duke of York, and Hooke, Boyle and others, to go up in the King’s ship, to talk among us about the nature of the Darkness, and how it might be stopped. All climbed in with great passion, but few did so from sound knowledge, young Fernod being the only one who might offer anything substantial, and he not here in substance. I sensed in Hooke and the other Virtuosi no desire to tell of Fernod and the French. They are most likely afraid the King and others will come to see our whole group as a menace. Sightings of Fernod in the City, Hooke whispered, though unconfirmed.

  We agreed to some sensible ideas, such as testing various substances against the Darkness in the hopes of finding some resistant material. T
he King suggested dropping many gallons of holy water from fire ships; this was politely acknowledged. I suggested extending the Thames around the Abyss in a series of canals, and this idea was well received, though there were doubts about how much water would be needed to sate the Abyss from all sides, the Thames not being an infinite resource, and the tidal flow from the sea being inconsistent. But it was agreed that something would need to be done, with the Chasm at its rate and course now threatening to engulf the City, St. Paul’s, the electrical factories beyond Moorgate, even our antenna array near Aldgate, which would make us vulnerable to French attack by air.

  We moved across to see the Darkness take St. Paul’s. Watched in silence as the shadow slithered under the grand structure, melting away the land beneath the temple first, so that the choir began by degrees to cleave away into the hole, like slices carved from a magnificent cake. With this taste of Heaven the devouring blackness seemed to gather strength, and in mere minutes the choir was gone, the portico had fallen silently away, and then the spire bowed to us and vanished. The whole sad banquet took less than one hour, and someone was heard to say that Wren had gotten his wish: the old monstrosity had been demolished, but now he had no ground to build upon.

  Having seen as much as we could now, the King away, and we to a little ale-house on the Bankside, over against the Three Cranes, and there staid till it was dark almost, and saw the fires the people had lit flare high along the edges of the Darkness, pushed against it by the wind from the East, and as it grew dark again that luminous glow appeared around the edge of the Abyss, which by now had swallowed a great piece of our beloved city, and looked so ominous that by comparison the fire at its edge looked merry and familiar. We stayed till, it being full dark, we saw only the fires.

  Tuesday 4 September 1666

  Up by break of day to get away the remainder of my things; which I did by a lighter at the Iron Gate. In the evening Sir W. Pen and I did dig a pit, and put our wine in it, and I my Parmazan cheese. Pen said that the talk has already turned to the French, and that the sensible amongst them have already fled home. Many rumours about the Abyss, and fancy is plentiful: that it reached out an arm to grab a baby from his mother’s arms; that it speaks in whispers — but only so you’ll lean close enough that it can eat you; that it is God’s punishment for our persecution of Catholics, or for our general sinfulness, or even for the approval by Church leaders, just a week ago, for the building of Wren’s pagan dome on Paul’s Church.

  If this is all the work of the French, Pen said, then it gives us an enemy to vent our fury against. I said that it also reveals how advanced their weaponry is. An army that employs pure Darkness as a weapon need not fear our Plasmatic Light. Yet I see nothing of the French in this attack, which has targeted so far our slum houses, our ale houses, our churches, yet not one of our strategic assets. Nor has it been followed up with an air assault, and our decryption stations have uncovered nothing indicating an impending invasion amongst the French or Dutch communiqués.

  So to Hooke’s, where I meant to convince him that we should tell the King about Fernod and the French experiments, but found him gone to help friends, his wife remaining there with servants to remove their things. She told me how young Fernod had shown up in the night, scared and babbling, with his eyes wide and weeping floods, and talking, too, of the French, but not in any way that made sense to them. They had been alarmed, and she had taken up a fire poker, and Hooke had said that he should tell these things to the King, and at that the boy cried “What authority does the King have over this Oblivion! The King of Nothing! The King of Nothing!” and ran off. She seemed upset by the recounting, so stayed a while to comfort her.

  This night Mrs. Turner and her husband supped with us upon a shoulder of mutton, without any napkins, in a sad manner, but were merry. I after supper walked in the dark down to Tower-streete, and saw the black eye across the whole City, surrounded by the ring of fire. Who knows how big it will be tomorrow. It has slowed a little, but has gotten to the Old Bayly, and is running down to Fleete-streete, and Paul’s is gone of course, and all Cheapside. I wrote to my father this night, then walked all the way to the wire-house, but it being burned, my tele-message could not fire.

  Wednesday 5 September 1666

  I lay down in the office again upon W. Hewer’s quilt, being mighty weary. About two in the morning my wife calls up and tells me the Darkness has reached Barkeing Church, which is at the bottom of our lane. I up, and finding it so, resolved presently to take her away, and did, and took my gold, also, and W. Hewer, and Jane, down by Proundy’s boat to Woolwich. But, Lord! What a sad sight it was by moonlight to see the City vanished, that you might observe the hole from the moon if you were on it. On arriving, I found the gates shut, but no guard kept at all, which troubled me, because of discourse now begun that there is a French plot in it. I got the gates open, and to Mr. Shelden’s, where I locked up my gold, and charged my wife and Hewer never to leave the room without one of them in it, night, or day. So back again, and whereas I expected to have seen our Seething Lane devoured, it was not. But Fanchurch-streete, Gracious-streete; and Lumbard-streete are all vanished. Walked into Moorefields and found a mass of poor wretches living in a vast encampment there, like the saddest army, and everybody keeping his goods together by themselves (and a great blessing it is to them that it is fair weather.) Never have I seen such misery assembled as I have from these souls who’ve lost not just their homes, but the very land beneath it.

  Thence homeward, in poor spirits, and lay down and slept about midnight, though when I rose I heard that there had been a great alarm of the French being risen, which proved nothing. The talk of plots has spread like the Darkness, devouring reason. A number of French people had been found hiding in a market cellar, and had been taken directly to the Abyss and thrown in. Still no sound theories about how this could all begin in a baker’s house; though there is a convenient rumour that the man brings in and stores some special butters from France.

  Thursday 6 September 1666

  To the King at White Hall. He spoke boldly of the plans to rebuild the City. But how can it be rebuilt, I wonder. There are no ruins to haul down. There are no ashes to sweep away. How deep would piles have to go to build a church upon this Darkness? Then told him all about the business with Fernod, and the Darke Materials, and he was not upset, saying he had already heard the stories through his spies, who have told him that Fernod plans to escape the City. He says there is no cause for fear amongst the Virtuosi, who are sensible men, or from Fernod, who needs only present himself and state his case. He was so calm at the news that I wondered if he knows more than I do. The fleets, he tells me, have been in sight of one of another, and most unhappily by foul weather were parted, to our great loss, as the Dutch came out only to make a shew, and please their people, but were in bad order. There is no sign of the French fleet.

  To Sir R. Ford’s, and there dined in on a fried breast of mutton; a great many of us, but very merry, and indeed as good a meal, though as ugly a one, as ever I had in my life.

  Friday 7 September 1666

  Up and to Bednall Green. No Skycar, no Tunnelcar, so by humble coach, my brother with me, and saw all well there, and fetched away my journal book to enter for five days past, and then back to the office where I now find the silence overwhelming. It is strange how long this time did look since Sunday, having been so full of actions, and so little of sleep, that it seemed like a month or more, and I had forgot almost the day of the week.

  Saturday 8 September 1666

  Up and with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen by water to White Hall. The Fleet is above Portsmouth, there seeking a wind to carry them to the Downes, or towards Bullen, where they say the Dutch fleet stays. News that Fernod was caught by militia on the road to Dover, hiding in an empty grainstore on its way to Calais Tunnel. He is being brought back to the Tower. He will be interrogated, but his story will be uninteresting, I think. If he was a “mule” for this French weapon, then why wou
ld he have declared his knowledge of the Darke Materials so openly to our group; and why would he have put it in a baker’s house? Admit his attempted flight to Calais doesn’t put him on firm ground. But nothing now is on firm ground. Bought two eeles upon the Thames, cost me six shillings.

  I was much frighted and kept awake in my bed, alone, by some noise I heard a great while below stairs; and the boys not coming up to me when I knocked. But soon to sleep; and all well all night.

  Sunday 9 September 1666

  (Lords Day).

  Up and was trimmed. Has been a week since the Darkness came to take our City. I to church, where our parson made a melancholy sermon about the Great Flood, and its purpose in cleansing humanity of its sins, and most in the church wept floods, specially the women. The church on the edge of the Abyss was greatly full; but few of fashion, and most were strangers. Walked to Bednall Green, and had a bad venison pasty at Sir W. Rider’s. But good people they are, and good discourse; and his daughter, Middleton, a fine woman. Discreet.

  Our surveyors estimate the growth of the breach across London has slowed, but still expands by a few dozen feet per day. It goes west as far as Temple Church, near Holborn Skybridge; to the north as far as Moorgate; in the east it approaches Aldgate, and ends just short of Tower Docks. It has taken many homes, but thankfully not ours, and equally it has not yet reached the electrical factories, the radio stations, the armament stores, the airfields. If this is a French weapon, then it is one designed to bring terror, not tactical advantage. It is a cruel one, too: one which leaves no corpses here to mourn, no loot to plunder, no maides to violate, not even a scarred and smoking landscape to plant a tattered flag in. If this weapon was made by man it is a work of madness; by God, an act consuming meaning, or sense.