Hawksmoor

'Forgive you? Forgive you for what?' There was turmoil in Hawksmoor's face.

'Forgive me for summoning you like this.' Then he sat down, and cleared his throat. 'How's the case going, Nick? How close are you to finding him?' The telephone rang but he ignored it and waited for Hawksmoor to speak. Then he added, in the gathering silence, T'm not sure we're getting anywhere, Nick.'

T'm sure we are. In time, sir.' Hawksmoor stood with his arms straight down by his sides, almost at attention.

'But we're not becoming any wiser. We've got nothing extra have we?' Hawksmoor averted his eyes from the man's gaze and stared out of the window behind him. 'I've got something else for you, Detective Superintendent, not quite in your usual line but '

'You mean you're taking me off the case?'

'I'm not so much taking you off this case as putting you on another one.'

Hawksmoor took a step backward. 'You're taking me off the case.'

'You've got things out of perspective, Nick. You laid the foundations, and you did a good job, but now I need someone to build the case up stone by stone.'

'But the bodies are buried in the foundations,' Hawksmoor replied, 'generally speaking, that is.'

The Assistant Commissioner lowered his voice slightly: There's been some talk about you recently. They say you've been under a lot of strain.'

'And who is they?' Whenever he heard that word, he imagined a group of shadows moving from place to place.

'Why don't you take some time off? Before you begin the new case.

Why don't you have a good rest?' And he rose, making a point of looking directly at Hawksmoor, who looked back helplessly.

When he returned to his own office Walter was waiting for him: 'How did it go?'

'So you knew.'

'Everyone knew, sir. It was only a matter of time.' And Hawksmoor heard a vast sea roaring around him: he saw quite distinctly a small creature waving its arms in panic as the water swirled around him like storm clouds. 'I tried to help -' Walter began nervously to say.

'I don't want to hear it.'

'But you wouldn't let me. Things had to change, sir.'

'Everything has changed, Walter.' He took the files from his desk.

'And I hand everything on to you. It's all yours now.' Walter stood up as Hawksmoor gave him the files; they were both on opposite sides of the desk, and their fingertips met accidentally as they leaned towards each other.

'Sorry,' said Walter drawing back quickly and apologising for his touch.

'No, it wasn't your fault. It had to happen.'

Hawksmoor sat very still after Walter had left the room, and during the course of the afternoon he tried to look at himself as if he were a stranger, so that he might be able to predict his next step. Time passes, and he looks down at his own hands and wonders if he would recognise them if they lay severed upon a table. Time passes, and he listens to the sound of his own breathing, in its rise and its fall. Time passes, and he takes a coin from his pocket to observe how it has been worn down in its passage from hand to hand. When he closes his eyes at last, he finds himself slipping forwards and wakes at the moment of his fall. But still he goes on falling; and the afternoon changes to evening, and the shadows around Hawksmoor change.

He left the office at last, and went back to Grape Street. He sat in his room and turned on the television: there was a man playing patience in a darkened alcove, and Hawksmoor leaned forward eagerly to scan that darkness, looking beyond the actor and examining the chair, the velvet curtain, the vase of dusty flowers. Then, with the television still on, he walked into the next room, lay down upon his bed, and did not wake up when the morning light lay in a band across his face.

THE RAYES of the Morning did not rouse me, and when I woke I scarce knew in what House or Place or Year I found my self. And tho' I resolved to walk out my Wretchednesse I only reached the Corner when I returned exceeding weary: there was a light Rain, also, which frighted me for if a Cold grows inveterate you may reckon it the beginning of a mortal Distemper. So thus uneasy I returned to my Closet, where I fell to thinking on the shape of my new Church which even then rose above the Mire and Stink of this City.

I went to bed at Eight of the Clock but between One and Two, after I had slept but four hours, I came to Vomiting: whether from my Distemper, or from the pannick Fright which comes to me in the Night, I am not certain. I drank a Spoonful or two of Cherry Brandy, which put me to Sleep until Nat Eliot woke me at Seven. But then I fell to Vomiting againe and, as all the while my Urine was as red as Blood, I lay sighing upon my Bed and saying: What will become of me? What will become of me?

Then with much Trembling I writ in my own Hand to the Reptile Knight: Sir John, pray do me the Favour to tell the Board that I did intend to be up at the Yard today, to speak of those matters concerning the Church of Little St Hugh in Black Step Lane, but that being pritty sick I would wish to stay a Day or two longer to hasten my Recovery.

Your most humble Servant to command etcetera. I called for Nat to run with the Letter to Whitehall, and he enters all of a hot Sweat: Another man came, says he, but I denied him to you. I let no one visit you as you ordered me, and when he says Is your Master withinne? I replied Yes, he is in but he is just sat down to Breakfast and can on no account be roused at this time; and then sometimes I tell them you are Sick, so I vary my Tricks with the Wind. I am a true Barricadoe to all who come!

He was scratching all over like a Wherry-man as he spoke: What Company do you keep in your Clothes, sir, I cried, that they must needs Bite you?

They are my Friends, he replied, since they never leave me.

Then why so melancholy at it? Your Face is as long as my Pencil and not so useful.

They are my only Friends. Then he stops short, growing uneasy at his own Words, and lookd down upon the Floor. And that, I said to my self, is the manner in which I will allways remember you, my boy Nat: looking down in Perplexity after a sudden Pause. But he ceases stirring his Foot in the Dust and asks: What is a hyena, Master?

It is an Animal which laughs and imitates Humane voices.

Good, good, he said as he rushed out of the Door with my Letter.

I know well enough why it is that they come to Visit me: they wish to see me in my Sicknesse so that they can triumph over me. Even still they suspect me and in the Office they murmur against me for the late death of Walter; their Suspicions are encreased by my Solitar inesse, yet why should I suffer them to speak to me when I become confused and Tonguetied in their Company? But to leave the Passions and to go on with the Facts: Walter hanged himself on the Door of his Bed Chamber; it was on a Sunday, the week following my Visit to him, between Nine and Ten in the Morning and he was not discovered by the sluttish Mistress of the House until the evening. He had only his Shirt and there he hung until between Seven and Eight at Night when the Coroner, being brought to see him, pronounced that he was not Compos Mentis. I was pritty composed: I told the impan nelled Jury that in his Ravings he had confessed to the Murther of Mr Hayes, but that I did not beleev him until this Self-murther. Thus once again did I kill two Birds; I was a good Joyner and worked in Wood and then I became a good Plaisterer and worked with Stucco: the death of Yorick Hayes has been laid to Walter, so putting me out of the Road of eager Inquirers, and Walter has despatched himself, so saving me the Labour. I would willingly have transmitted to him in succession all the Secrets of my Art but he watched me, pursewed me, threatened me, betrayed me. And if he is quite undone now, why should I feel Guiltinesse: if a Dog should by chance Bark at me, should I not tread upon its Taile?