The crowd cheered, and the air was filled with a fine debris which left a sour taste in Ned's mouth. In that instant he lost sight of her: he hurried forward towards St Pauls, calling out for her as the dust belched out of the old houses behind him.
It was after this that he entered what was known as the 'strange time'. Exhaustion and malnutrition had weakened him to such an extent that even the taste of his own saliva made him retch; cold and dampness entered his body so that he shook with a fever which would not abate. He was talking to himself now for most of the day: 'Yes,' he would say, Time is getting on. Time is certainly getting on'. And he would rise up from the ground, look around, and then sit down again.
He had a curiously weaving and tentative walk, taking several steps backward and then pausing before moving forward again: 'We don't want any rubbish round here,' one policeman had said to him as he stood quite still in the middle of the yard, and Ned had waited, eager to hear more of this, before being pushed violently into the thoroughfare.
Where now he heard words which fascinated him, for they seemed to be repeated in a certain pattern: on one day, for example, 'fire' was a word which he heard frequently and then on the next it was 'glass'. He had a recurring vision in which he saw his own shape, watching him from a distance. And then when sometimes he sat, bewildered and alone, he glimpsed shadows and vague images of others who moved and talked strangely -'like a book,' he had said.
And sometimes, also, it seemed as if these shadows recognised or knew Ned for they would walk around and cast their eyes upon him as they did so. And he called out to them, 'Pity me. Do you have a farthing or a broken crust?'
When he got up from the wooden floor, he was thirsty, and his throat was sore as if he had cried out the same word over and over again.
'And why should they pity me?' he thought as he walked away from the river. It was a cold, grey morning and Ned could smell the scent of burning rags or rubbish which came from the Tower Hamlets Estate on his right side. He walked into the Commercial Road and, raising his arm above his head so that it cast a slight shadow across his face, he could see Black Sam lying in the doorway of a betting shop: a heavy blanket was draped over his body, concealing his face and chest, but he had no shoes and his naked feet protruded into the street. Ned walked across to him and sat down by his side; there was a half-empty bottle near him, and he reached over to take it. 'Don't touch that,'
Black Sam muttered beneath his blanket, 'Don't fucking do it!' Then he removed the blanket, and they looked at each other without animosity. Ned's throat was still sore and he could taste the blood in his mouth as he spoke. 'Can you smell that burning, Sam? Something's burning somewhere.'
'It's the sun. What about that sun?' And Sam reached for the bottle.
'Now,' Ned said, 'Now there's something.'
'It's a cold and dark morning without the sun, Ned, and that's the truth of it.'
'It'll come,' he murmured, 'It'll come.' A column of smoke rose up in front of them, and Ned glanced at it in alarm. 'I'm not going to run,' he said, 'I've done nothing.'
Black Sam was whispering something to himself, and Ned leaned over eagerly to hear it: 'It keeps on turning,' he was saying, 'It keeps on turning'.
Ned noticed a small stream of piss issuing from beneath the blanket and running across the pavement into the gutter. But then he raised his head just in time to see the cloud cover vanish from the earth although the pillar of acrid smoke lent the sun a blood-red colour. 'I don't know how long I'll be here,' he said to Sam, 'I'll go now and then I'll come back.' And he rose to his feet, steadied himself, and began walking to that patch of derelict land by the river where the vagrants danced around their fires.
The bell of Limehouse Church was ringing when Ned woke up in the old house; the others (the old couple and the young man) were asleep, for it was still night, and so he rose cautiously. He left the room without thought, opened the door and crossed the threshold into the street known as Rope-Maker-Field. It was a clear, calm night and as he looked up at the bright stars he gave a deep sigh. He started walking towards the church itself, but weakness and lack of food now so wearied him that he was able to take only small and tottering steps.
Then he stopped before the church, crossed his arms over his chest and contemplated the futility of his life. He had come to the flight of steps which led down to the door of the crypt and, as he sensed the coldness which rose from them like a vapour, he heard a whisper which might have been 'I' or 'Me'. And then the shadow fell.
THE SHADDOWE falls naturally here since the Clowds, tho' they be nothing but a Mist flying high in the Air, cast their Shade upon the surface of the Water; learn how to do this in Stone and look you, Walter, I added, how the body of the Water moves. All things Flow even when they seem to stand still, as in the hands of Clocks and the shaddowes of Sun-dials. But Walter kept his Hands in his Breeches and squinted at the Ground; the Office was still within our Sight, even as we stood by the Thames, and he looked uneasily towards it. I asked him the Matter. Do not trouble your self, he replied.
I will know what is the Matter, I told him.
Nothing is the Matter, what should be the matter?
You trouble me now indeed, Walter Pyne.
It is nothing, said he, it is a Trifle, it is not worth talking of.
And I replied: Do not put me off with such Stuff as that.
It was Sad work to get the Truth out of him, and he was as like to have held his Tongue if I had not stood very High upon it and prevailed with him to Answer. They talk of you in the Office, he said (and I grew Pale), and they tell me that you stuff my Head with mildew'd Fancies and confus'd Rules (and the Sweat formed on my Brow), and they say that the Ruines of Antiquity lie too heavily upon you (I looked out over the River), and they say that I must follow another Master if I am to rise (I drew Blood from my Mouth but stood quite still).
My Mind became like a Blank, a paper unwritten: And who are these who tell you so? I asked at last, not looking at him.
They are those who profess themselves to have nothing but friendly intent towards me.
And then I turned my Eyes upon him and spoke: You are a Fool to believe any Man your friend, you must trust no Man, nor believe any one but such as you know will sin against their own Interest to lie or betray you. I know this to be so, Walter. He withdrew from me a little at that, but then I laughed out loud at him; these good Friends are meer Flyes, I said, who will feed on Excrement or a Honey-pot equally: I would rather my Life was hid in Obscurity than that my Actions should be known to them, for the smaller their Value of me the more I am at Liberty. But here I checked my self: should I once begin to speak freely, I should blirt out All and so hang my self. All this while Walter was gazing out at a Wherry in which there was a common man laughing and making antic Postures like an Ape: a merry Fellow, said I to break Walter's mood.
No, not so merry, he answered.
We walked back towards the Office and as we spoke with each other the Wind blew our Words in our Faces. And once more I asked him: Who are these who speak to you of me?
They are known to you, Sir.
They are known to me as Villains, I replied but I did not press Walter further on this Matter. And yet I am not blinde to those who work against me: Mr Lee, the Comptroller's Clerke, as heavy and dull as an old Usurer; Mr Hayes, Measuring Surveyour, as changing and uneasy as a Widow without a Fortune and one who emits his Unquietness like a Contagion; Mr Colthouse, Master Carpenter, a silly, empty, morose Fellow who has as much Conceit, and as little Reason for it, as any Man that I know; Mr Newcomb, Paymaster, who has but a low Genius and yet some of his Remarks would make a Body laugh at his Folly; Mr Vanbrugghe, Artificer, whose Productions are but sad and undigested Things like a sick man's Dreames. These are all Gingerbread Fellows, meer Tattlers, and I would as soon eat a Dish of Soup in a Common Ordinary as smile wildly in their Company. But since I keep my Time out of their dispose, therefore they contemn me.