Ashburnham<\/em>. What did they expect would happen? Children, the lot of them. It\u2019s what comes of allowing immigrants to take over the country \u2013 these Jutes, and Angles, and sundry Saxons. The Norse men, and all the rest. No regard for the workings of fortune, any of them. No sense. At least Maddox is a scion of the true Britains, whatever else may be mixed into his blood.<\/p>\nWe came, betimes, to the end of the talk. Rafe was attempting to disengage himself from an associate with a brass machine and the maniacal look of the enthusiastic inventor \u2013 a look with which I have become very familiar after several visits to this club\u2013 when the footman entered, bearing a card on a salver. He resembled a sad and dissipated legionary, this footman, and something about his silent, looming bulk made the inventor\u2019s gabbling tail away.<\/p>\n
\u201cMessenger for you, Dr Maddox.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rafe took the card and examined it with slight interest.<\/p>\n
\u201cHis master is waiting, Billingsly?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere is a carriage at the door, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rafe nodded. \u201cPack away my slides and projector, would you, Billingsly?\u201d Taking Rafe\u2019s proffered arm, I accompanied him towards the doorman\u2019s nook, where a strange man in a colourful coat and short trousers stood. He did not look English, or even British.<\/p>\n
The man bowed with sullen care. He wore an absurd white wig that was on the verge of tumbling off. A long queue of his own black hair ran down his back.<\/p>\n
\u201cLord Mo Gui deeply regrets his being unable to attend tonight\u2019s lecture,\u201d said the man, thickly pronouncing the words with the same careful deliberateness with which he managed his wig. \u201cLord Mo Gui sends his carriage, and invites you to kindly do him the honour of accepting his hospitality this evening, to discuss certain facts concerning the\u2026\u201d The man hesitated, dropping his eyes to the book tucked beneath Rafe\u2019s arm before enunciating \u201cthe Cotton Avicenna B iv.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow curious,\u201d said Rafe. \u201cA student of ancient manuscripts, is he?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe master has special knowledge of it.\u201d He looked again to the book, though whether in questioning or covetousness I could not judge.<\/p>\n
Rafe turned to me. \u201cIf you have no objection?\u201d<\/p>\n
I shook my veil.<\/p>\n
Outside, the night street was alive with clattering wheels and iron-shod hooves. Foot-travellers surfaced in ones and twos at the gaslights, then sank back into the river of shadow.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhitechapel Slaying!\u201d keened a child on the pavement, a bundle of papers piled in his arms. \u201cVigilence Committee Baffled!\u201d<\/p>\n
They can shout in square capitals, these modern Londoners.<\/p>\n
As though overcome by his own eloquence, the boy\u2019s eyes fluttered, then rolled away, white, into his head. He tipped back in a rigid fit, nearly striking the pavement before Rafe caught him.<\/p>\n
I watched, appalled. \u201cCome away, Rafe! This is a black omen!\u201d<\/p>\n
My attention flew from the boy to the far street corner. A gaslamp had winked out. A couple, tall, fair, in dark cloaks rounded the turn.<\/p>\n
\u201cRafe\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
But he never heeds me. Instead, he carried the boy, with difficulty now the seizure was in full force, to the bland footman who still stood in the open club doorway.<\/p>\n
The next streetlight died as the pair advanced. A hack-horse near the pavement lurched madly away from them into the traffic, hooves slipping, the cabman screaming.<\/p>\n
\u201cRafe, we must go now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t stay, Billingsly,\u201d said Rafe, passing the shaking boy to him.<\/p>\n
I sometimes wonder if that footman would so much as blink if one of the members plucked the Moon from the air and handed it to him for safekeeping.<\/p>\n
\u201cGet some brandy into him when he comes \u2018round. And give him this,\u201d said Rafe, depositing a couple of half crowns into the footman\u2019s pocket.<\/p>\n
\u201cQuickly,\u201d the gaudy messenger urged.<\/p>\n
At the waiting carriage, Rafe assisted me inside while the messenger mounted hastily in front. Setting off into traffic, I touched the smooth window glass that showed the lighted street so agreeably even as it barred the smoke, and noise, and smell. The fair couple had stopped at the club doors, a row of dead lamps in their wake. They were watching us accelerate away. Rafe seemed not to have seen them in his preoccupation with the newsboy.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat lad was ill-starred,\u201d I said. \u201cYou too often involve yourself in the affairs of others.\u201d<\/p>\n
He turned to me from his own window. \u201cThere is only one affair, Brenna, and we are all involved.\u201d<\/p>\n
I suppose it is his religion that makes him do these inscrutable things. There being no purpose in probing strange beliefs, I went instead to practicalities.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re certain,\u201d I said, \u201cthat your wife<\/em> does not object? To entertaining me?\u201d<\/p>\n\u201cViolet understands. She\u2019s a very modern woman.\u201d<\/p>\n
I drew back my veil, to see the street-life the better. \u201cNot like me, then.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rafe\u2019s appraising eye fell upon me. \u201cNo,\u201d he said after a moment. \u201cNot like you.\u201d<\/p>\n
The book was on his lap now. He stroked the scarred leather. \u201cOdd,\u201d he said, his voice lower now. \u201cThat Chinaman, in knee-breeches and livery. One doesn\u2019t see that much on anyone outside of court, much less on Chinamen.\u201d<\/p>\n
He lapsed into introspection. For my part, my mouth was soon stopped with awe of the city. So many passing faces, such shops and homes of brick and stone. Somewhere, the quarries and clay-pits must be dug down to the underworld to raise such a city. A vast, empty, anti-London. There is always a price. Always balance.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t like the look of those columbia,\u201d I said, observing a ring of birds perched in a noose around a statue\u2019s neck.<\/p>\n
Rafe sniffed.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf we don\u2019t heed the signs, Rafe, we will fail to see what is in store for us. Like that one-eyed crossing-sweeper we saw crushed under the cab.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat was he<\/em> a sign of?\u201d<\/p>\n\u201cOf inattention.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rafe drummed his fingers on the book.<\/p>\n
\u201cBrenna, I know I\u2019ve sometimes asked before, but\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re wondering what it is like.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere.\u201d<\/p>\n
As with each time before, it was like grasping water.<\/p>\n
\u201cLike a dream. It slips away.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs there nothing? No way to compare it with\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is better.\u201d<\/p>\n
After a time, Rafe grew restless in the silence, frowning and squinting out the windows. Finally he examined the card once more. \u201cThis isn\u2019t the way to Finsbury Square.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs it not? Look, there is The Tower.\u201d It had been my first sight of London. This<\/em> London. An awesome sight.<\/p>\n\u201cWe\u2019re continuing eastward.\u201d<\/p>\n
We passed streets that Rafe named, but which meant nothing to me. Houndsditch. Aldgate. Onto Whitechapel.<\/p>\n
\u201cAldgate? Is that one of the wall gates?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI remember the gates. Is there\u2026?\u201d I felt something. \u201cA great pit of bones.\u201d<\/p>\n
The suggestion slitted Rafe\u2019s eyes. Presently we left the street, turning into a tunnel-like carriageway, the close gloom sending shudders through me even as we emerged into a black-shadowed courtyard at the heart of an insula. Gates crashed together behind us in the alley, sealing the yard like a sepulchre\u2026or columbarium.<\/p>\n
Stopping, the carriage rocked as someone stepped from it onto crunching road-metal. The man in livery, a lantern in hand, released us.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis way, sir, madam.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rafe stepped down and assisted my exit. I took his arm once more and we fell into step with the lamp-bearer, passing into the house\u2019s dark corridors. Rafe\u2019s features pinched up in repugnance at the place. He hates the close dark. All smell is disease, they say, and all darkness evil. They are correct.<\/p>\n
Finally, deep inside the edifice, the Chinaman knocked upon a scarred door, black with soot or paint. From within there issued a growling reply. \u201cCome.\u201d<\/p>\n
We were led into the fire-lit room, long and lively with shadows that hid much of the place, and sat in a pair of padded chairs near the middle of the chamber, facing a third at the far end where there was a great hearth. Logs of immense proportions blazed, crackling with a life so much more alluring than the stingy smoulder of coal grates. I ached to be near the flames, to be warm; even my veil, closed again, bent towards them, drawn by the fierce draught. But the way was blocked. A silhouette, rimmed in fire. A vast wing-chair, its back to the hearth; a large man was installed there, hidden in the lea of the chair.<\/p>\n
\u201cWelcome, Doctor Maddox,\u201d said the man, in a low voice, gravely, like a stone wall collapsing. \u201cAnd guest.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rafe leant forward, peering into the shade of the wing-chair. \u201cYour Finsbury Square calling card address is a little out of date, Mr Hamilton. Or is it Lord Mo Gui<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n\u201cThat is what they<\/em> call me,\u201d said the man, lifting a great hand from his chair in the direction of whatever dark corner his servant had retired to. \u201cSomething in their tongue. I am Jock Hamilton, as my card states. Or Jack<\/em>, as you English prefer.\u201d Rafe seemed about to comment when the man broke his pause. \u201cI knew your grandsire, Maddox.\u201d A hacking rattle interrupted Hamilton. \u201cAnd some of his little friends. The Athenians.\u201d<\/p>\n\u201cDid you know that he still lives?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDoes he, by gad? I expect he has changed a good deal in fifty-eight years. I know I have. Not so much spring<\/em> in my heels as there was.\u201d Another rattle.<\/p>\nHamilton clapped his huge hands, a sound like a falling body striking cobbles. In reply, a new servant appeared. \u201cPipe,\u201d ordered Hamilton. One was produced, and Hamilton drew through it the flame of a spill lit from the fire. He snuffed out the stick with his fingers and began a rhythmic tapping on the arm of his chair, the spill chattering like teeth against the furniture. But it was not the spill \u2013 he had dropped that. His nails made the noise. Of scuttling crabs.<\/p>\n
A cataract of smoke spewed from the hidden old man, over the chair back and into the draught heading for the chimney, but a little of the reek of it reached us.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt surprises me,\u201d said Rafe, \u201cthat you have lived this long, taking opium.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMadak<\/em>, rather, if you will allow me the nicety. But a man of your, ah, reputation, should not suffer to be surprised so easily.\u201d<\/p>\nAs Rafe retreated back into his chair, considering this, he shifted his book from one hand to the other, bringing it momentarily into the firelight. Old Hamilton fell suddenly still, his nail-clatter silenced.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs that it? The Cotton Avicenna B iv?\u201d<\/p>\n
Rafe hesitated. \u201cIt is.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hamilton twitched a finger. Behind us, bolts were slammed home on the doors.<\/p>\n
\u201cGive it to me,\u201d growled Hamilton.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat claim do you, sir, have\u2026\u201d protested Rafe, stopping as another gesture from Hamilton brought his pair of servants slinking back into our circle of light. Rafe remaining impassive, the liveried men advancing upon him, only at the last moment drawing long knives from beneath their embroidered coats.<\/p>\n
Who can say whence comes strength on these occasions? The courage to carry on when violence bares its dreadful teeth? I cannot, though I have had occasion to regret past failures in the face of violence, failures that have long troubled me in the, the\u2026 leisure<\/em> that I have been afforded. Perhaps it was those regrets, and the desire to see them never repeated, which set me suddenly on my feet, my chair tumbling away behind me along with my veil. Those memories, propelling my left hand to the liveried messenger\u2019s wrist, crushing it like a reed, the dagger dropping to clatter on the floorboards. That resolve, driving my right fingers like porcelain blades through his neck before his shock from his broken bones had even turned to pain.<\/p>\nWe were statues in the firelight, motionless but for the hot, sanguine cascade from the throat of the messenger, suspended limply now from my upraised arm, as if we two were the centrepiece of some terrible fountain.<\/p>\n
In the stillness, the clacking of Old Hamilton\u2019s nails began again.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell,\u201d he said. \u201cWell, well.\u201d<\/p>\n
I was more concerned with the other servant, watching, his knife hovering uncertainly between Rafe and me. I let the messenger slip away into the dark pool at his feet.<\/p>\n
Hamilton\u2019s clattering ceased. He shifted. I looked to the servant, waiting for his response to Hamilton\u2019s cue. Then, the old man leapt. Leapt! The ancient consumptive launched like a bolt from his chair, landing just short of me. He seemed exhausted by the effort, hunched, froglike on the floor, panting. Hamilton\u2019s face pressed the floorboards, prostrate in obeisance to\u2026what? His pale, coarse jaws worked, as if mumbling supplications.<\/p>\n
He lapped\u2026blood. The messenger\u2019s warm blood.<\/p>\n
The other Chinaman stared from me to Hamilton, a great shudder racking his body as he understood what his master did. Eyes wild, he dropped his dagger and ran for the door, fumbling impotently with the bolts for so long I thought he must be mad. At last he worked the lock and was gone.<\/p>\n
Hamilton took no notice.<\/p>\n
I looked to Rafe. His face was set, thoughtful, watching the creature at our feet. Amid its slubbering, Rafe stretched out his legs, crossed his ankles, and inserted a pipe between his lips.<\/p>\n
Even at a moment such as this\u2026 This is an age of fire. The very people smoke.<\/p>\n
Stuffed with tobacco, the pipe flared at the touch of a match, which Rafe tossed, sizzling into the puddle of gore.<\/p>\n
\u201cHamilton!\u201d barked Rafe.<\/p>\n
The awful lapping slowed. Hamilton\u2019s head turned up, jowls crimson and oozing. Only now did we properly see his huge face. Swollen\u2026 hairless. Cadaverous.<\/p>\n
\u201cPull yourself together, man,\u201d said Rafe. He waggled his pipe. \u201cHave a smoke.\u201d<\/p>\n
The\u2026 Hamilton looked about as if waking in strange chambers. His thick tongue darted out again to run along his lips. Straightening, he averted his eyes from Rafe, and from the messenger\u2019s jumbled body. He delved into a pocket, producing a handkerchief, wiping ineffectually at his face.<\/p>\n
\u201cForgive me, I\u2026 yes. A pipe,\u201d rumbled Hamilton. He threw away the soiled handkerchief and crossed to the doors, shutting and barring them once more, before leading us to carry our chairs over to the hearth. \u201cAway from that,\u201d he said, a talonned hand twitching towards the body.<\/p>\n
Once settled, Hamilton breathed a thin blue flame into the pipe to light the tobacco and opium, examining me the while.<\/p>\n
\u201cNow listen to me, Maddox. There may not be much time. You must give me that book at once.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rafe\u2019s extraction of his pipe to protest was in vain.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know\u2026\u201d Hamilton continued, \u201cI am a thing to be despised. I despise myself. But the noose and the knife make no impression upon this hide of mine. Do not imagine that I\u2019ve not tried, at times, in despair.\u201d<\/p>\n
His gaze suggested that he wondered at the efficacy of my hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut why in heaven\u2019s name do you\u2026\u201d Rafe began.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe book. I know it. And curse it. For your own soul, and mine, and souls yet unborn, give it to me!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
Hamilton\u2019s features, already dreadful, assumed a vicious anger before he mastered his hate and groaned. Taking smoke from his pipe to steady himself, he growled on.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe were mad for ancient things in those days. I understand your generation has surpassed the ancients in wonders. You look to the future. But then, it was ruins that caught the fancy of the young. Greece. Rome. The tombs of pharaohs. And old books\u2026 that book. Damn that book!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot a classical work,\u201d Maddox interjected, \u201cis it? Something Arabic.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe glosses, fourteenth century. The text, oh, eighth century, perhaps. But the substance of it, Maddox. Far older.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was 1829 when I found it in your Grandfather\u2019s library. Borrowed it. Took it on my tour of Italy and the new Greek kingdom, or rather the relics they inherited. Had some notion of getting it translated in Stamboul. Until I met a Copt in Venice, a monk, who knew the language. He deciphered it.\u201d Hamilton seemed to stare away into infinity, or the distant past. \u201cThen I tried to go through Delphi, but couldn\u2019t find the way. But there was another route. Near Parga. That was my first mistake.\u201d Again the old man rattled and coughed, unless it was laughter. Or a sob. \u201cYou\u2019ve read the Italian, Maddox.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe glosses, yes. Directions. Landmarks. Warnings. Is it an itinerary of some sort?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf a sort. I compared them with a manuscript, now, alas, lost. They are directions, as you say. To, and through, a place with many entrances, few exits. There, I spent my life, and became\u2026this. Those glosses are in the hand of Dante Alighieri.\u201d Hamilton flung his pipe into the hearth. \u201cFor pity\u2019s sake, Maddox, give me the book!\u201d<\/p>\n
Rafe had already abandoned his own tobacco. \u201cHow many others have you sent there, Jack<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\nA smirk disfigured the creature\u2019s face before Hamilton returned, in a melancholy I could well recognize. \u201cI was not always thus, Maddox. It changes one. How could it not, fifty, sixty years in such a place. Even the body adapts, as much as flesh may,\u201d he said, examining his great clawed hands, \u201cas Lamark thought.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is the main text, Hamilton?\u201d demanded Rafe.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe Orphic Mysteries, Maddox. The only surviving record. It is a guide to Hell.\u201d<\/p>\n
We watched the fire, each guarding his own thoughts, until Rafe spoke again.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut why do you need the book? Surely\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
Another groan, or sigh, wheezed out of Hamilton\u2019s bulk.<\/p>\n
\u201cI had no Virgil as guide, I was cheated, robbed, misled, and cruelly used from my first step. Only because I still live, after a fashion, may I come and go at all, for a few hours, or days, each year. There are tides in the affairs of men \u2013 isn\u2019t that said? So with the realms of the damned. Now weak, now strong, they ebb and swell with influence. Here, there, one foot in sun, one among the shades,\u201d Hamilton said, rattling again, \u201cI feel every wax and wane.\u201d I stood as the old man reached out to seize Rafe\u2019s arm, but Rafe shook his head. \u201cI swim against the current, Maddox,\u201d said Hamilton, \u201cbut it gets the better of me. For the love of God, believe me Maddox, I never meant to kill those women! But the appetites of that place\u2026 fifty years of hunger, man! There is no meat there, but others\u2019 souls. I would never have kept returning here, but for the book! The book.\u201d Hamilton fell to his knees before Rafe. \u201cGive me the chance to find a way to Purgatory!\u201d<\/p>\n
Distantly, as though from the street or some remote corner of the house, a desperate cry sounded, just as abruptly cut off. Hamilton turned wildly to the doors.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey\u2019ve come, man. They\u2019ve come for me. From there<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\u201cSurely it was just\u2026 you mean they follow you<\/em>?\u201d Rafe stood, shaking off Hamilton\u2019s clutching nails at the expense of his sleeve to take a few hesitant steps towards the doors. One of the knobs turned, and rattled. I rose, Hamilton hopelessly following suit.<\/p>\nA great force struck the doors, splintering the wood in places. Rafe strode to them, with me on his heels, the next blow loosing a hinge. He was nearly upon them when the third attack burst the bolts, flinging wood and ironmongery past us, across the room, to where Hamilton cringed by the fire.<\/p>\n
Filling the passage left by the doors, the fair couple, in their black cloaks. They stirred, as if to enter, then kept their place. One inclined her head. She regarded me, then Maddox.<\/p>\n
\u201cMove aside. We want him<\/em>.\u201d She pointed past us.<\/p>\n\u201cI will not,\u201d said Rafe.<\/p>\n
The other spoke. \u201cThis is not your affair\u2026 man.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rafe took a step closer to the pair. \u201cDo you know who I am?\u201d<\/p>\n
The two said nothing, but looked briefly to each other.<\/p>\n
\u201cI will not grant you,\u201d said Rafe, \u201cwhat I denied to Him<\/em>. You shall not enter this place.\u201d<\/p>\nThe couple watched him in silence, making no move to advance or retreat. Maddox fixed them with his eye.<\/p>\n
\u201cBrenna,\u201d he said, holding out the book without releasing the couple from his gaze, \u201cgive this to Mr Hamilton. That he might never return to London.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rafe was shivering as if freezing. I hurried to Hamilton, who seemed himself transfixed by the couple\u2019s gaze.<\/p>\n
\u201cTake it and go,\u201d I said. \u201cquickly. And redeem yourself, if you can, in whatever way your religion deems right. For his<\/em> sake,\u201d I added, indicating Rafe, \u201cif for no other reason. He must believe it possible.\u201d<\/p>\nHamilton nodded. \u201cIt\u2019s better this book leaves the world. Forever.\u201d Clasping the manuscript to him, he moved closer to the fire.<\/p>\n
\u201cOne last thing,\u201d Rafe said, not turning his head. \u201cWas it worth it, the suffering? To satisfy your curiosity? Your pride? To know\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n
The old man looked to me, then the hearth-stones. He made a strangled sound. \u201cThere was someone. Who died. She was\u2026 precious to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rafe said nothing for a long moment. \u201cAnd did you find her?\u201d<\/p>\n
Hamilton shook his head. \u201cNot yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
He took another step closer to the fire, nodded to me, and walked into the flames, springing instantly up the vast chimney.<\/p>\n
At the doors, the couple inclined their perfect heads as if to bid Rafe adieu<\/em>, or something else, until they should meet again. And they were gone.<\/p>\nRafe remained, shaking. I guided him to one of the chairs by the hearth, and after searching in the dark corners of the room found a little uisce<\/em> in a decanter, to calm him.<\/p>\nWe sat while the logs burned low, and turned to embers, until at last Rafe seem to return from wherever he had gone.<\/p>\n
\u201c![\"Zetein.](\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/08\/motto4.jpg\" "\\"Zetein.")
\u201d said Rafe.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s the motto, of the Etheric Explorers.\u201d<\/p>\n
It had been a long time since I had heard any Greek spoken. \u201cTo\u2026 seek, to discover, to\u2026 return home?\u201d I translated.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe older I grow, Brenna, the more the final command speaks to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was late, and soon I too would have to go back to another place. There was just a faint glow in the hearth when Rafe turned to me in the dim light and spoke again.<\/p>\n
\u201cHamilton left in, what, 1830?\u201d Rafe elbowed himself up from where he had sunken into the chair. \u201cHe knows nothing of photography.\u201d<\/p>\n
I was about to reply that I knew nothing of it either, until I remembered his \u2018slides\u2019. Now I worry for Rafe.<\/p>\n
Copyright \u00a9 2011 by Paul Marlowe
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