Peter Ackroyd - Hawksmoor

There was a handful of Fire in a rusty Grate and a large earthern Chamber Pot in the chimney-corner: the Mixture of Scents that met us when we first entred were those of Tobacco, Piss, dirty Shirts and uncleanly Carcasses, but Hayes was so drunken that he did not so much as regard it. I like it here, says he entering through the Door with a staggering Gait, and yet I do not remember choosing it.

I led him to a Table and, when the Boy approach'd us, call'd for Brandy. Tell me, says Hayes, how Licquour makes Men see things Dubble: for see this here (and he pick'd up a Pipe) this is Dubble to me now. What Mistery is this?

You must wear the plant called Fuga Demonum, I told him, to prevent the seeing of Visions.

What? says he squinting at me. And then he goes on: But there are many, many different things in this World, are there not Master? For whereas I might say, I would eat more Cheese if I had it, a Northern man would speak it thus (and here he opened his Mouth to one side like a Fish) Ay sud eat mare cheese gyn ay had et, and a Western man thus (and here he lowered his Head down into his Neck) Chud eat more cheese an chad it. His Eyes were brisk and sparkling: more Brandy, I thought to myself, before the Spirit sinks utterly. But there must be rules, Mr Dyer, he was saying, do you agree with me there?

There must be rules, sir. Then he sank back in his Chair, and his Eyes lost their brightnesse.

I have had Letters, said I to make Tryal of him in his Infirmity.

I have had Letters, too.

But these ones threaten me, I replied.

They threaten you? And he gave me a blank Look: the Rogue is cunning even in his Cups, was my Thought. Now he had fixed his Wigg to the Chair and reached but to Spew, while still I smiled upon him; then he looked around himself as if suddenly waking and, seeing some Sots pissing against the Wall, he went to join them. But he was not able to Walk, only to Reel, so he took out his Gear and pissed under the Table where we sat. I poured his Glass: No, no, no more, says he, no more, I have a Pain in my Stomach. He got up again and, staring straight ahead, went towards the Door; 1 walked with him and asked him which way he was travelling. To my Lodgings, he replied. I suppose you go along Lombard Street? He assented to this, and I said: then I will help you.

The Night was far advanc'd, and the Clock struck Eleven as we entered the Street; I wanted no Coachman to see us, so I took him by the Arm and led him thro' Alleys to the Church. He had so got his Load, as they say, that he came along with me quite willingly and was even ready to sing out loud as we cross'd the dark and empty Lanes.

Do you know this one, do you? he asks: Wood and clay will wash away, Wash away, wash away, Wood and clay will wash away I have forgot the rest, he adds as he links his Arm in mine. Then on reaching Lombard Street he looked up at me: Where are we going, Nick?

We are going Home, says I and pointed out to him the Church of St Mary Woolnoth with the Scaffolding upon it.

This is no Home, Nick, at least not for a Live Man.

He makes to Laugh out loud, but I put my Hand over his Mouth: Quiet, I said, the Watchman may hear us!

To which he replied: There is no Watchman, the Watchman has gone from this Site, why did you not know this when you wrote expressly? And then he goes on: Let me climb up the Scaffolding, let me climb up and see the Moon.

No, no, I replied softly, let us visit the new Work. And so we crept, both of us Laughing, to the Place where the Pipes were being laid. He bent over to look at this Work, tho' he could see but little, and then I stroked him and put my Hands around his Neck. I owe you a Pass, I whispered, and now you shall have it. He made no Crie, and yet it is possible that I myself uttered one: I do not know. I read once of an Englishman in Paris who rose in his Sleep, unlock'd the Door, took his Sword and went down towards the river Seine where, having met with a Boy, he kill'd him and returned still asleep to his Bed: so it was with me, for when I came to my self Hayes was lying beneeth the Pipes and wooden Planks had been put over his Corse. Then I trembled at what I had done, and looked up at the new Stone of the Church to stare away my Feare. Thus I remained under the Shaddowe of the Walls for a good while, until I grew sensible of the Cold, and then I walked with swift Pace back into Lombard Street.

I was just got into Grace-Church-street when I pass'd a Constable, who asked me if I needed a Link on so dark a Night? I told him that I knew my Way very well and needed no Light nor Watchman, while all the while I was as like to have made a Stool-pan of my Breeches. Your Servant, sir, says he at last, and a safe Night to you. I looked fearfully behind me until he had gone into Great Eastcheap and then, being acquainted with these Streets, I put a good Distance between us. At Cripple-gate I whipt into a Coach and made him drive away as if the Divill were behind me; but it was not until I sank back in the Vehicle that I found I still had the dead Man's linnen Kerchief grasp'd in my Hand: I dropt it out of the Flap of the Coach which opens just behind the Coachman. In this manner I travelled as far as Drury Lane, where I took myself next into an Ale-house but, what with the Running and the dreadful Apprehensions, I was almost as wet with Sweat as if I had been plunged into the Thames. I lean'd against the rotten Wall of the Tavern but, as soon as I had recovered my Breath, I was seized with an unusual Merriment: I call'd for Strong-water and made my self Drunken as soon as may be.

I knew not what Time it was when a Mask came to my Table and brightened upon me at a strange Rate: Captain, says she, my dearest Captain, will you take a Turn with me? And then she fluttered me in the Face with her Fan and languish'd upon me, taking my own Glass to her Lips.

You have no Shame in doing this? I ask'd her as she settled down beside me.

Never fear, my Captain, those things like Shame are meer Bugbears for Children, she replied. I drive my Trade like an Honest woman, and I am as sound as a Eunuch which is the main Point. Kiss me, Captain, and I will show you.

But do you not fear God?

She mov'd back a little from me: Fuh, says she, I hate all that Stuff.

Then I took her Wrist and whisper'd to her: Have you any Rods?

She gave me Eye-contact and smiled then: You are a flogging Cully, I see, Captain. Well, well, I am an old Partner in that Game. So after some more merry Discourse the Harlot took me with her to the Dog Tavern where she kept her Room: come in, says she after I mounted the Stairs behind her and was a little Fatigued, come in and be at your Ease while I clean myself. And then in my Sight she washed her Bubbies and sweetened her Arm-pits. With her Cloaths off, she smelt as frowzily as an old Goat but I turned my Face to the Wall and did not so much as move a Finger as she went to work on me. You are new to this Game, says she, for I see that the Body is still fresh.

THE SKIN was being stripped from Hawksmoor's back and he was trapped, shuddering, in this dream until he screamed and the scream became a telephone ringing beside him. He froze in a jack-knife position; then he picked up the receiver and heard the message: 'Boy found dumped by church. Body still fresh. Car coming'

. And for a moment he did not know in what house, or what place, or what year, he had woken. But he tasted the foulness of his mouth as he stumbled from the bed.

Now, in the warm car, he considered the duties he would have to perform; as he passed St George's, Bloomsbury, he speculated about the photographs he would require -both to mark the position of the body, with the individual folds and creases of its clothing, and to record any materials clutched in the hands or fluids trickling from the mouth; as he travelled down High Holborn and across Holborn Viaduct, past the statue of Sir Christopher Wren, the police radio emitted three bursts of unintelligible sound which seemed for a moment to illuminate his driver's face; as the car moved along Newgate Street, he considered the scale of the projection and detail drawings he would need but, as he stared at the back of his driver, small phrases from the dream returned to him and he shifted uneasily in his seat; as he was driven down Angel Street, the glass of an office-block glowed just before the morning sun was obscured by a cloud, and he could see other buildings reflected in its surface; and as he entered St Martin's-le-Grand he remembered certain words but not the tune which accompanied them: Set a man to watch all night, watch all night, watch all night…