The Thing Itself (26 page)

He said to the Cooke,
if it be bathing you wish, come with me now &d we’ll bath together my chucke
. &d he pressed upon her breast with his fingers, even in that place wheere the nipple is, &d she, tho squealing &d slapping at his Hande, yet was grinning. I felt up with my strength to his Knees, &d popped the one firste, &d the other after, as they were two circlets of stale bread, turning them with ease into crumbes. He bellow’d in great paine &d fell, pulling the Cooke down upon him after, who thinking this was more of his sporte, shrieked the more &d call’d him to stoppe
for Enoch
(this being the Steward’s name)
was about, he was sure to finde them, &d he was hotte against lechery as a Puritan &d she could lose her place
. When the Tinker did not release his hold she cried, still mistaking him,
not heere, not heere, let us go by the wood behind the fallow field
.

I knowe not what befell my minde now, for the Cooke had always used me well enough, though sometimes short with me. But this plea for Fornication made the rage grow fiercer in me somewhat, &d I reached inside the Cooke, even to her
Stomach
, which felt in my touch like a twist of wet woole, or a scoop of tripe filled with Sauce of some kinde, &d this in my sinful wrath I Squeez’d. Out came a deale of
Spew
fro her mouth, &d after came a gout of
Bloode
, upon which she choked &d gagg’d, &d rolling from the Tinker did clutch her gut &d crie aloud that she was Dying.

My rage fell from me, &d I knew great feare at what I had done, &d I broke like a
Fawne
from a thicket &d ranne from that roome.

It beseemeth me then that I was wicked, &d that I could not be trusted with the strength that was in me, gift of the
Sylphis
for good or ill. I knew not wheere I ranne, for the teares did smocke in my
Eys
, &d the walles did dance before me, the door jerck like a Shaker as I try’d to hurrie thro’. &d, in hind sight, perhap I should have fled the
House
altogether, &d gone as I sometime ponder’d as a soldier or sailor, yet did I not. For reason of which I am not sure I haul’d up the stair to my lord the Judge’s chamber, &d I burste in upon him without knock &d fell on the floor before him.

How now my ladd?
he said to me, much surpriz’d.

I babbl’d, &d tolde him that the deaths of so many &d the hurte of others was on my conscience lay’d, &d begged his help, for I was too weake to hold against the Temptation to hurte others. At first he was much amaz’d, &d bade me repeat myself, &d repeat againe, &d soon his face grew darke, &d he trembl’d, &d tolde me
go against the wall theere
, &d
go away from me
. I retreated to the far wall &d sobb’d &d wrack’d, &d my lord pac’d up &d bade me repeat it again. I told him the tale entire, &d promis’d to proove it tho he scoff’d. Yet he did not scoff, he was a willing eare, &d shooke his head a great deal.
It is the Devill, the Devill
, he said, many a time, &d added that he
should never have trafficked with that Hogart, the man had sold his Soule
, &d then he sat back.

Finally the teares were out of me, &d I was calme againe. But my lord was more agitated than ever I have seene him, &d he grew more fearfull to be in the roome with me.
You must stay heere, in my chamber, my ladd
, he said, &d when he left he drew the locke closed behind him. This gave me reason to ponder, &d already I repented me that I had come to him &d babbld all. But theere was no escape, unless I us’d againe my strength to wound or kill those that came against me, &d this I resolv’d not to do. When my lorde returned he came with three of his men, who were all armed with a pitchforke one, &d a cleaver another, &d a third with a pistol. These three took me to the cellar, &d theere they lockd me againe. I had been in this roome before, yet did it seem to me in a light anew.

Now from this space I was taken to a gaol in Maidenhead towne, &d theere kept for many weekes. I was arraigned &d try’d, &d condemn’d as
Warlocke
, &d the Cooke spoke in the triall against me. Yet was sentence delay’d, to give me space to write this history of my time, &d come to some account of the Change. During this time theere have been times when the Temptation to use my Strength has been fierce upon me, &d so to escape &d runne to the Sea or to Scots Land, yet have I not done this, save one time when in a
picque
I did blackenn the ey-balle of one Jailor heere for cuffing me &d speaking violence to me, popping the littell tangle of veines that are stitched into the reare of the balle, &d spilling blood into the jellie, such that he was blinded in that Ey. Yet did I repente me as soone as doing this, &d begg’d his pardon, offering him to strike mine owne Ey &d so be reveng’d, e’en as it saieth in the Bible, a Ey for an Ey. But he fled away, &d I sawe not him againe. &d this, thanks to GOD, has been my onlie relinquishing of myselfe to temptation, nor shall I do so againe.

As to the Sylphis, I have spoken with a learned divine, a wize &d compassionate soule, who doth convince me that they were Devills, assum’d a pleasing shape as the
Bible
doth saye they may. &d I do repent me of the hurt I have done, &d am reconciled to my punnishment, which is to be hang’d for the deathes of the fine gentlemen of which I am guilty. I commend my spirit to the mercy of my LORD JESUS CHRIST, in whose bosom all sinnes howsoever foule are clean’d &d made pure againe. May He receive my soule, &d may any who reade this true history beware the temptations of the Devill &d cleave only to the one Saviour.

I have heerd Saint Peter whisper to me in the
night.
He beggeth me to join with him, and I shall meet such unitie at death, which I feare not. So am I donne. This day, the twenty and sixt of August, the yeare of our Lord Sixteen hundred &d Ninety-five.

7

Pursuit

Substance and Accident

I was taken to the Great Western Hospital at Swindon, and there I stayed for a long time – the lion’s share of five weeks, in fact. They operated, and it became infected, and for a while I was very ill and feverish and unhappy. Then I recovered, but the artificial tendon they had tried to fit me with was rejected and they took it out. The stitches they used to repair my Achilles fared a little better, but still I walked with a limp, and do so to this day: brace on my leg, stick in my hand. Another infirmity to add to my various other infirmities. Another deformity the further to deform deformable me.

It seemed (said Dr Giridharadas, the hobbit-sized, energetic doctor attached to my case) that ‘something very peculiar indeed’ had happened to the ligaments and tendons of my left leg. ‘I have never seen an injury quite like it,’ she told me, with too-poorly-concealed professional delight. ‘You did not receive this injury playing tennis.’

I assured Dr Giridharadas that I had not received this injury playing tennis.

‘The plantaris tendon is quite gone,’ said Dr Giridharadas, putting the end of her left little finger against her right thumb, and then swivelling both hands about to bring the end of her right little finger against her left thumb, then repeating the entire gesture once, twice, three times. ‘It has been removed. The Achilles is snapped, or rather sliced. You are lame, my friend.’

Since I couldn’t get out of bed, this seemed to me a reasonable diagnosis.

‘You can see the little hole through which the plantaris was removed,’ said the doctor, although the waddy bandages covering my swollen leg meant that I could see nothing of the sort. ‘By pliers, perhaps?’

‘It just,’ I said, ‘slid out – like a snake out of its den.’

‘Of its own accord?’

‘I was assaulted,’ I said. ‘A man called Roy Curtius attacked me. He is very dangerous – the police must be informed.’

Dr Giridharadas looked very grave, wrote the name down, and promised to have the authorities notified. I got the sense she was humouring me. I dare say humouring patients is a large part of the job. A nurse came in to check on me, and loitered by the door when she discovered that the doctor herself was there. ‘As for the Achilles,’ she said, ‘I would normally say: immobilise it and leave it to heal. But the break is so smooth, bizarrely smooth, oddly smooth’ – each iteration added more ‘oo’ to the word – ‘so smooth that I am afraid stitching will be needful. Actually the absence of the plantaris isn’t a huge problem. You will experience some reduction in the functionality of the knee, I think; but people get by without that tendon pretty well.’

This fact brought me, a little, out of my self-absorption. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘It is by way of being an evolutionary hangover, I think, from when our ancestors used to manipulate things with their feet the way we do with hands. In fact, we sometimes use the palantaris posterior when we need to transplant a more vital tendon somewhere else in the body, because the patient can get along fine without it. You may find movement of the knee and ankles a little restricted. You may limp a little. Interesting fact: it’s the longest tendon in the human body, often thirty-five or even forty centimetres long.’

‘It hurt when it came out,’ I said.

‘I’m sure it did. There
will
be swelling and discomfort for a while. But you can function pretty well without a plantaris. It’s the Achilles I’m worried about. How did you come to snap that?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘It may have happened,’ she said, ‘during the extraction of the plantaris.’ She looked at me again, with a wary eye. ‘
Did
he use pliers? This Mr— What did you say his name was?’

‘Curtius. And no.’

‘He must have used pliers,’ said Dr Giridharadas decidedly. ‘Or some similar tool. The extraction was remarkably efficient. Is he a surgeon, then, this Mr Curtis?’

‘Curtius,’ I said. ‘And: no.’ I could have explained that he used telepathy, but I realised how that would sound, and I held my tongue.

‘At any rate if he pulled it out
without
anaesthetic, then it must have hurt. Very distressing. It’s possible that you snapped your own Achilles, thrashing or jerking your foot in pain.’

I thought back, but couldn’t remember very much, besides the strangely placid expression on Roy’s face. And the agony, of course. ‘I don’t know.’

Dr Giridharadas put each of her little fingers inside the shell-curl of her two ears, one either side: and ran them around the groove in unison. It made her look as though she were making pretend elk-horns at the side of her head. Then she put her hands in her pockets. ‘Let me say this: your injury is unusual enough to merit me writing it up for the
BMJ
. I’m not legally obliged to obtain your permission to do this, I should tell you, and of course I will anonymise the details. But I hope you don’t mind, at any rate. What I don’t understand is how Mr Curtis got
hold
of the end of the tendon.’

‘Curtius,’ I said.

‘It can’t be pliers. You’re quite right to correct me. It can’t be pliers, because the wound through which the tendon was extracted is no larger
than
the tendon. I’m envisaging a long steel knitting-needle-type structure, with a hook on the end. Is that right? Am I ballpark?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘Most unusual!’ she cried. ‘Thoroughly unusual case.’

I had my Achilles stitched under local anaesthetic, lying on my front. Then I spent two days with my leg elevated and motionless. Then they gave me an NHS walking stick, which hung on a peg at the end of my bed, and I tried hobbling around with that for a bit.

Then things took a downturn. There was some post-operative infection, and I grew feverish. I was put on antibiotics, and the first course disagreed with me, plunging me into a near hallucinogenic state of total prostration. I had odd visions. Some of the things I had seen in Antarctica returned to me, but with the hazy lineaments of vision rather than the hideous immensity of actuality. A great black hill, burning with fire, glimmering with darkness visible, and a door in the hillside that opened to scorching white fires within. I saw Irma, but she looked sourly at me and left. I saw the ghost-boy, and wished I hadn’t.

One night was especially grim, and I writhed so much I wrenched my foot from its elevating cradle, and pulled the stitching out. Further surgery was necessitated. The wound was reopened and the torn stitched removed; and then the tendon was fixed with glue and restitched and a hard cast placed on my foot to keep it in place.

I understand the regular police visited me during this time, but I was not responsive to their questions. Then representatives of the government came – Belwether, and her armed guard – and relieved the local police of their duty to pursue further inquiries.

All this I learned after the fact. I went through a phase when I was only half present, heavily medicated and passive, drifting between sleep and wakefulness. At one point (really, this is all very hazy) I tried to get out of bed. Unused to the cast on my leg, and not fully compos mentis, I fell. There was a loud clatter, and I was attended not by a nurse but a man in a sports jacket. I had a moment of mental clarity when I thought:
this geezer isn’t a nurse
. As he leant over to help me, his jacket gaped open to reveal a pistol in a shoulder holster. The scarred boy, behind, winked at me with the eye on the good side of his face. And then the night nurse came in too, and the two of them had a low-volume conversation that, in my fever-heightened state, I heard perfectly. ‘I heard a crash, I didn’t know.’ ‘Wendell, please leave it to the nursing staff to attend to the patients.’ ‘I was just helping him up.’ And so on.

I slept. When I woke it was dark and still and I was alone again, with only the hallway light spilling through the little window over the door for illumination. I listened. There were various sounds, distant and irregular, to do with the functioning of the hospital. There was a regular pulsing sound, like a wonky wheel turning, or a car alarm very far away. The more I listened to this, the more it drew me out of myself and into the sound. It was not coming from inside the hospital, I decided. It was from outside. It was a dog barking, or perhaps a fox, but a long way away. And then a sub-rumble added itself to the barking, and this grew to supplant it, and finally a trapezoid of light appeared on my ceiling, stroked smoothly across and half down the wall before vanishing again, and the mystery clarified in my head. I heard the ambulance shutting off its engine, and then a series of tubular, metallic noises as (I assume) its back doors were opened, a stretcher loaded on to a gurney and wheeled inside.

The distant scraping sound of the motorway, like a faraway waterfall. After a while you stopped hearing it.

No birdsong.

Then some coughing, low-level conversation – two male voices, too muffled to be decipherable – and the ambulance engine drum-soloing back into life and receding, and eventually, quiet again. The lights did not appear again on my ceiling.

I must have slept because the next thing it was morning – late in the morning, in fact. A nurse brought me breakfast, and Belwether was sitting in the corner, looking at me. After the nurse had gone, I spooned muesli into my gob. ‘When is it?’ I asked my visitor.

‘Tuesday.’

‘I meant month.’

‘September. Aren’t you curious who I am?’

‘I always liked that the ninth month was called “seven”. And the tenth, “eight”; and the eleventh, “nine”. And the final month in our twelvemonth year called “ten”. That’s pleasantly wonky. Don’t you think?’

‘It’s almost as if the year begins in March,’ she said. ‘My name is Belwether. I work for Her Majesty’s Government.’

I finished my muesli, and took a sip of orange juice. ‘She employs a lot of people, that lady.’

‘Mr Gardner. How are you feeling? Well enough to talk?’

‘I do feel better,’ I said. And it was true. There was something familiar about Belwether, although, outside of this hospital, I’d never met her before. I couldn’t put my finger on the familiarity.

She sat up a little straighter. ‘You won’t be aware,’ she said, ‘what happened at the Institute.’

‘What happened?’

‘Well there is some good news, at any rate. They’re not all dead.’ My heart gave a little fishflappy spurt.
Dead
. ‘There weren’t many people on site when it happened, which was lucky, I suppose.’

‘When what happened?’ But I already knew what she was talking about.

‘Curtius,’ she said. ‘He did that to your leg, you say? You were with him in Antarctica, of course. You went to see him in Broadmoor, back in July.’

‘Where is he now?’

She smiled. ‘I wish we knew.’

‘Hence the armed guard on my door?’ The horror of this was percolating through my brain, and I’m not proud that one of my first thoughts was personal survival. ‘You think
that
will stop him?’

‘To be honest, we’ve never dealt with a situation like this before.’

‘Like what before?’ I swung the tray away from the bed on its hinged bracket and sat up. My leg was throbbing vaguely, discomfort rather than acute pain. ‘What? Here’s what I’d like: I’d like you to explain what on earth is going on.’

Belwether sighed a modest little sigh. ‘I was rather hoping you would explain it all to me. You’re an Institute member, after all. I’m not.’

‘Me neither, it transpires,’ I said. The memory was sour, and I daresay I scowled, and it led me to: ‘Irma. Is she all right? Is she still alive?’

Belwether took out her phone and glanced at it. ‘This would be,’ she said, thumbing down, ‘Irma Casbrook? My understanding is that she wasn’t on site when Curtius attacked.’

‘So where is she?’

‘I’ve no idea. That’s not my job.’ She put her phone away again. ‘Mr Gardner. May I call you Charlie?’

‘You may not,’ I said.

‘I’m going to anyway. Let’s start with something we agree on. What you said about Her Majesty.’

This wrongfooted me. ‘What?’ I didn’t remember saying anything about the Queen.

‘As you said, she employs a lot of people. In her house are many mansions. I don’t need to spell out for you in precisely which sub-department of which section of which ministry I am employed. But I’m part of that group that handled liaison between the Institute and the Government.’

‘I was there a couple weeks, max,’ I said, taking hold of the cast on my left leg with both hands and trying to shuggle it a little, to reach an itch on the skin. ‘I was never really part of it. They used me, and then they discarded me.’

‘The point
I’m
making is that I’ve signed the Official Secrets Act.’

‘How marvellous for you.’

‘So have you, as it happens.’

‘I haven’t,’ I objected.

‘At the Institute, a Professor Kostritsky gave you a number of documents to sign. Contracts, waivers and so on. The Official Secrets Act was one of these. All members of the Institute signed it, on account of the extraordinary sensitivity of their work.’

‘You’d be better,’ I said, looking past Belwether and through the window. September, she’d said; but the leaves were still green, ‘better off talking to Kos yourself. She knows the ins and outs.’

‘She’s dead.’

‘Oh.’ Good grief. I tried to think of other people I’d known at the Institute, but though a few faces flashed upon my memory I couldn’t recall their names. That’s bad, though, isn’t it? ‘And – Peter?’

‘Peter?’ queried Belwether.

‘Head honcho.
You
know.’

‘I’ve already told you. She is dead. Tragically. Who’s Peter?’

‘Never mind.’

Belwether paused for a moment to peer at me, and then said: ‘I believe you know more about the workings of the Institute than you let on. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve been well briefed on the day-to-day. The project aims and objectives.’