Confidence in Nashes Readershippe - Calmative Message - Intermission - Notice from Grimworthe - The Sewers of London

I am very gladde to welcome my adherentes backe onto the crumblyng jalopie of my pryvate lyfe.

The reader who payeth attention to the precedynge episodes wyll note thatte one recent poste concluded wyth the newes that allsurpassyng Sophia the wicked Mother-of Twain had successfully executed her planne to subjugate the entire realm to her Popish whimsy. However, more than one reader wyll no doubt be aghast thatte I have faild at up-datynge hym or her on the nature of thys dictatorshyppe. He or she mighte even have raisd hys eyebrowe at the foot-loose manner in whych apparentlie I continue to go aboute my daily business while svpportyng the insvpportable Yoke of servitude. For thatte conscientious reader I present, by way of intermission from the compellynge narrative of the Murder of Ebeneezer, a shorte account of city lyfe thatte I recyved the mornynge after the Cryme, in a letter from my huntynge acquaintance Grimworthe.

Dearest Nashe,

Another quarry.

The metropolitan railway runneth under my roomes, and the sewer floweth juste beneathe in green grease and fetidness. I have discovered somethynge straunge and luxurious growynge in the tunnels where no light reacheth by. I would lyke you to come hunte it wyth me.

Where I hang my tweed behynde the door I have pinnd a mappe of the routes roundabout my lodgynges and blocke. Connexions branche out into surrounding boroughs and link the tryckles wyth the reservoirs. I patrole in gum-bootes, wyth a headlamp and a shot-gun.

Recentlye, I venturd oute alone, without Oppenheimer. Whilst the skyline was trymmynge the orange sun downe to a slivere, I lit my lampe againste it, and beganne my slowe exit through the floore-boardes. Once belowe the lyghte is broadly killd, of course, wyth the aire.

I layd thread, and gatherd my Barbour aboute me. I beganne my hunt wyth takynge a general surveye of local ratt populations so that I myght determine local feedyng habits. Findynge a local neste deserted, I pricked amongst the danke, ranke avenues awhile and turnd up nothynge whatsoever thereabouts. I emptyd my trappes, and layd poyson and flares.

I was about to return, havynge travelld a good distaunce from home and my worke completed. I pausd at an intersexion beneath Myle End station, where the traynes always rushe o’erhead and the announcements can be heard if the hunter is listenynge. And I noted two younge women sate by, too, alonge the edge of the sewer.

Theyre combined age not more than 45, they sate wyth frying-pannes. I askd what the helle they were doynge, and they replied it was theyre ‘Night Oute’. In the sewer? I protested. They sate there wyth frying panes, filterynge the sewage, and I lookd on wyth a gunne. I presumd they were acktivists of some kynde.

Somethynge very odde is afoot, Nashe. But next tyme we go a-huntynge we might stande a chance of collecktynge a woman too.

Youres feithfully
M. Grimworthe.

Grimworthe unfailinglye provided me wyth some information and some edification, whether or notte he intended to supply either. This small missive provided me wyth some diversion as I studiously avoided the bloudy corpse of Ebeneezer.

My main occupation, though, was the perusal of the booke of Blakke Arts, procurd from the starte in order to thwarte the scheming of the Mother-of-Twain and restore MFI to its former workmanlike adequacy. Younge women pannynge for golde in the sewer systems were quite probably the beginnynge of the New Dawn etc. that the beautiful Sophia had promisd, and Grimworthes news spurrd on my investigations.

I beganne to learne to conjure, wyth some degree of success.

PANICK! - Manufacture of Confectionery - Ghastly Coincidence of Orthographie - Poesie - Naked Fear

Nott bankynge on a dede bodie asleep in my parlour thys Monday afternoon, I panickd at firste. I managd to restraine myselfe, though. I even made a small cake for myselfe that helpd me forget what had happend, icynge it in four different colours and writing Nashe. Unfortunaely, the distraction of MURDER was so greate thatte I misspelld my Name for

D E A T H E

On the rainbowe. I started to eat the cake up faste for feare. My mynd was flamynge wyth invencioun but I had no means to deploy it for I was sicke to see the body itselfe. I pacd all nyghte in the kytchen where half the rainbow cake stood reading

E A T H

Whych my clevere braine quickly arrangd into

H E A T

And I took thatte for the fires of Hell and the endless cutlasses that rush through a man all day by them. The lyghtes of my kitchen seemd lonely and yellow against the darkling garden outside. I sweare thatte not a second passd that nyght whenne I didde not wishe I had never beene to the librarie nor stole the booke of Blacke Arts that now stoode greenly by my sinke nor thoughte to kill Ebeneezer for the sake of it. More ambitiously, very quicklie I beganne to wysh I hadde never seene Sophia the Mother-of-Twain nor fallen so muche in love wythe her incoherent style of parenting whenne I saw her swyngynge her childe in amongst the colourfulle balls. I cursd her persoun also for her evyl scheme that forbade our evere havynge a meanyngfulle relationshippe because it made her a villain and I a hero. But how thatte balance hadde been unstitchd today! What a bloudy failure thys Nashes lyfe has come to! I wrote a poesy in extreme payne.

In kitchen by nyght, wyth mappes unspeakable
Nashe plots a course to forfeit hys handes.
Where thorns hang his skinne up on Sophia’s steeple
Nashe stores hys heart by in a hessian bagge.

To hys hopeless future has he everything subscribd,
Yet Nashe gains a seede of torment to plante.
For when the spring shines, then the soil provides
An earnest of hopelessness yet to advance.

And where the seede wyll sproute, Nashe wyll be couchd
And hys heartlesse blakke flowers, wyll spit the summer oute.

Havynge completed thys worke of pulynge sufferynge, I betooke myselfe to bedde and wept a good deale until the sunne came in to batter me. Preparynge to sett oute as usual to buy a liver for breakfast I quite forgot my deede, my bloudy countenaunce or the state of my clothes but fortunately resignd myself at the last minute to weetabix, that sat sadly in their pinkening milke.

-Where is all this bloud coming from? I demanded.

A litel was trickling round the doore. Gettynge up, I armd myselfe wyth my spoone and brandishd it before me as I followd the streem up the hallway and into the parlour.

-‘SBLOOD!

was the only word I could muster strong enough to express my horror upon reacquaintance wyth the bloody carcasse of Ebeneezer the librarian, lying wyth hys hede in the fireplace. More terrible thynges I think perhaps I shall never see. I ran for the kitchen and instantly began makynge anothere cake when I realisd I was deepe in Denial.

Thankfully, I spotted the grene book of Blakke Arts on the drainynge boarde. I putte on the rubber gloves, for the booke was fragile, and beganne to read.

Metaphorickal Analysis of the Complex Feelynges of Nashe - Decision to Use Blakk Arts - Interview Wyth A Librarian - "Stop, Thief!" - An Atrocity

Past the acres of crushd, blacknd furze that once I calld my equanimity, I could spy a last miserable glowynge on the orizon where the metaphorickal sun revolvd its way into extinction for the nyght. Problems, mutterd I in my purgatorie. Problems wyth woman.

I draftd a spelle to winne here to my love and betooke me to harvest as many bookes on the Blakke Arts as I koude from Hackneye Booke Depositorie. The librarian on thys day was a hulkynge pirate in the very pryme of lyfe, black-shirted and clean combd wyth a badge readynge ‘Ebeneezer’. I presentd my beloved library carde unto hym and lookd the pyrate in the eye calmly, wyth a hint of impednyng disorder.

-Hello Mr. Thomas Nashe.
I grinnd fiercely then tooke the Retinal Scan.
-And how can I helpe you, Mr. Nashe?
-I’m lookynge for a book. I set forthe my argumente, though already I felt the eggtimer of my patience beganne to trickle.
-Yes, Mr Nashe, which book were you lookynge for? the buffoon askd my suddenly unsmylyng face.
-A booke on the Blakke Arts, I went on.
-Yes, well, Mr Nashe, of course ‘The Black Arts’, do you knowe who the author is?
-I am lookynge for a booke aboute them, I drond.
-Oh I am sorry Mr. Thomas Nashe, cowerd the pyrate.
-I’m lookynge for ISBN 0140430679.
He producd a Record on the white screene and read it very slowlye.
-Yes, I think we do have it, he decyded at laste.

In between the laste C.W. Awdry and the ende of the shelfe there lay a volume bounde in seaweede. Howe longe it hadde been there I didde not guess. Ebeneezer gave it me askynge was it the correckt one? I was very pleasd to inform hym it was. He offerd a private readyng roome and some white gloves that I took with pleasure. I thankd Ebeneezer heartily. However, once I had the booke in hande I whizzd out of the Hackneye Booke Depository and made for my roomes at top speede. Ebeneezer was in hott persuite, puffynge lyke a carthorse and menacynge my styck-thinne body wyth a snappynge, or WORSE it koude have been a shaggynge or snippynge I knew not what he would do.

I slammd the door behynde me but the rear window was open and Ebeneezer the pyrate was clymbynge in, huge and foamynge at the mouth as I clutchd litel my booke to me. I instantly fetchd my rapier and cloke from the clokeroome and stood him offe at the bottom of the staires.

-Stand downe! I broadcast.
-Thief! Cried Ebeneezer, advancynge.

He aimd the first blowe wyth hys mighty beglov’d fiste and I darted into the parlour, leavynge hym to smashe through the glass of the front door.

I crowed from the chaise longue, Youle never take my lyfe.
-You’ll have your library card revokd replied Ebeneezer, and he streightway pickd up a poker and was suddenly the very pickture of a Foaming Asssailant. He lungd about the chaise longue as I leapt from ende to ende. The elecktrick saviour I hadde stoode by the fyreplace so many weeks ago for Lady Maude remaind, and I pickd it up wyth a prayr.
-Thatte is our Lorde and Saviour Jesus Christe, pointed out Ebeneezer.
We both pausd for thought. In the awkward silence that ensued I putte on one of the electrick tunes. We stoppd to consider howe bothe of us were given pause for thoughte. Thenne, sicke of thys idleness, I stabbd hym in the hede wyth my dagger and the bloud ranne out along the skirtynge boarde.

The Kidnappe Continues - A Dialogue Wyth Popery - A Helpless Bearing of Witnesse - A Shy Retirement

-Ah Thomas Nashe, Sophia scornd in her most villeinous voix, and pingd my fastenyngs. I understande you were attemptynge to buye a bedde.

Foolyshly, I tooke thys for a kynde of sexual invitation.

-Although youre husbande is quite deceasd I phancy you have a passynge intereste in Nashe kitted up as he ys in crimefightynge splendour and armd to the teethe.

-You imbecile, Nashe, she growld between clenchd white teethe. I am nott interested in you.

I balked at the prospeckt of a kidnappe situation under anybody’s supervision but my owne.

-What is it thatte you want? I demanded of the demented Mother-of-Twain.

-I worke for the Catholick Churche she explaind, swyngynge her handbagge lyke a hypnotyst’s clocke. I am especially interested in the propagation of its rituals and its Rules for Conduckt. Yet more especially I am strongly objeckted to such Puritanical purchases as the bedde upon whych you are currently stucke and would rather a sense of opulence and grandeur were injeckted into the proceedynges of the lives of each citizen of this United K and I don’t merely mean of religion. Happily, I have payrolld the staffe here at MFI wyth credit from the Pope and Britannia wyll soon see the whole of thys magestick retail chain transformd into a emporium for the purchase of nothynge but good Catholickal opulence and honest glitz.

Thys kind of monstrous behaviour I could not stomache, and beganne to hatche a planne for my escape. My minde racd to aske a difficult question of the Popish harlot.

-When didde you last confesse? I queried hopefully.

-I do not confesse! - she declard happily - I am savynge it uppe for a really good one. But synce you aske there are severale different categories of sinne thatte I feele I have really excelld at and Ide love to fille you inne.

-That sounds superbe! I cryd merrily, playynge for time.

-First of all, beganne Sophia, who was not unattracktive, my first sinne was involvynge the beastes of God’s creation. I dressd them uppe in glamour fashions and sette them oute on a daytrip to Morecambe where they ate 6. Thenne my next sinne was settynge fire to my dogge. Thenne my nexte sinne was cheatynge on my exam and when I was caught I wrote a pamphlette ‘gainst the other girle and she was burnt at the stake. So I got offe quite well. After thatte I cut the legs offe a chaire and sat on it in the middle of the M4 to protest against oil prices.

-You are truly a monstere, I humoured her hopynge she would be delighted. Sure enough she skipped and hoppd like a teenager. I askd after her children.

-They are styll in the colourful ball area where we lefte them earlier Nashe. She gave a litel kisse on my cheke. I admitte I was touchd. Unfortunately she was suddenly wise to my game and began torturynge me most horriblye after an unrelatable fashion

When she had finyshd she reminded me I was about to witnesse the New Dawn &c. and sundrie other tropes I had taken care to insulate myselfe against when I sett oute to become a crimefighter. Thenne she drew backe a red curtain revealynge a clockworke mappe of the UK wyth all MFI’s markd. She set fyre to it and behind was slowly revealed a grandiose paintynge of the Pope as the ashes felle lyke sleet in the springtime before her. The nation wyll be golden and all transactions, behaviours and so on thoroughly ritualised, she proclaimd, and I koude feele her blinkerd and ungodly planne rollynge into axion.

-Sadly nowe we must parte, Thomas Nashe, she sayd. I do not care for Stockholme Syndrome but I have never hadde trouble wyth it before and if you ever try to calle me I will have you detaind indefinitely. But you canne go nowe. She undid me and I was taken home to my rooms by the humped shoppe-boy.

Nothynge remayned that was honest or simple any longer. Confusd and hungry, I tried to continue in a land that was turning to inedible and idiotick golde under the elegantly booted foot of its insane quean.

Awakenynge - Nashes Sorrowe - A Dream Related - The Captor - Nashes Indignation

Whenne I came to my hede was as sore as if it had been keelhauld and I phancyd I was missynge a toothe or two. Slowly a darkend roome swamme into dim focus and I realisd I was strappd across the Bed that Maynt be Slept On. Wyth a spirit so broken, I sawe, that one of its enamelled divots did colleckt the tears I hadde wept in my slumber. The particulars of a dreame beganne to come to me that I hadde dreamt as a lay on thatte improbable couche, whiche I here most tearfully sette down as I recall th’extreme sadness and horror wyth whyche I watchd th’events unfolde.

I dreamt my uncle, th’uncle whose handes were soft, was fisshynge by the edge of a goldenne evenynge rivere in whiche there swam a handfulle of blue carnivorous fysh. He hadde a rod and lyne stucke in the grounde where I satte by in the place I shoulde be if I were a boye. I was myselfe howevere, the adulte, nybbling away ‘pon a shippes biscuit he hadde gave me. The yeare beynge 1578 ande the plague not yet descended on the worlde I was very pleasd to see my uncle fyshhynge and no harme yet come to hym. He turnd aboute to me wyth a blue fysshe in a potte and thenne he spoke in a very cleare voix as he brandishd it at youre adult Nashe in the place of the boy.

-You kinde Nashe have no relations. He sayd, whych I understood to mean I was alone in the worlde because everybody else was dede. But he smyled to me where i was, that is in the place of my younger selfe, and I felte a light memory of happinesse come on in me lyke a cable beynge connected.

And thenne he tooke the fysshe from the potte, and he put in in his mouthe whyche I saw was champing & was flashynge wyth pointed teethe, and I ran to the rivere and he hadde turnd his backe, and a saw a fishtail come from hym behynde, and a turn aboute, then I saw hym and the fysshe was huge and eatynge hym instead, and he was a fysshe and his whole hede was in its horrid mouthe. Then I turnd backe to the rivere and there layeth my uncle corruptynge in the marl. In frighte I put my handes to my hede, and I felt the firm silvery flesshe, and I hadde become a fyshhe, and I hadde already swallowd myselfe. I could not weep on the lande for longe, where the other fysh could not hear me, or I shoulde starve me of breathynge. And my uncle seemd long gonne, so I jumped in the water to flicker in there. And I was miniscule in it, and swamme through the eyesockets of skeletons in figures of eight until I forgot what it was that hadde evere changed in my shape or activitie, and I was unquestionably become a fysshe for evere.

Anyway, I awoke in this miserable attitude wyth tears still marking broadly symmetrickal lynes down my chekes and began to make the beste of the situation. I beganne by lookynge to see what might be arranged vis-à-vis liberation. My weapons I koude not finde to revenge myselfe on whatever vile miscreant had so ruind a day that thus far hadde seemd so plesaunt. The apallynge tenor of recent events was cruelly exacerbated by th’entrance of Sophia the Mother-of-Twain, whom I now perceivd had poisond my hotpotte in one of my lesse vigilante moments. I cursd myselfe for the yndiscretion. The bondes beynge so tight, i didde nearly do myselfe myschief in my ambition to slip free my limbes.

Arrivynge on the Businesse Parke - The Proscenium for Nashes Shop-Scene - The Creche - The Attracktive Mother-of-Twain - The Shoppe-Floore - The Jigge

I walkd to the perimeter of London carefully fosteryng attitudes of benevolence and welcome to the beste of my abilitye, but they soon slumpd destroyd to the lowest shelf of my temp’rament. Alonge an endlesse Croydon track watchd on by eyelesse buildings, I founde the warehouse stucke in a dead sea of concrete, greye as a monument to the dede and as talle as a Catholick churche. It was surrounded by myriad muted cars & vehicles through whych I pickd my way. MFI, tolled the billboarde, and the ‘MFI’ chillynglye ran down my body like a ball-bearing along my veines. Children cryd in the trolley-parke as innocents, flaming furniture, and serpents streamd entangled from the front of the building. Vultures began to gather on the eaves where signs redeing ‘Special Offer’ hung tatterd and ravaged, and I hadde the distinckt feelynge a syngle eye was watchynge.

I leapt to the fronte of the queue for the crèche and asked to deposit a childe.

-You have no childe, sir.
I asserted that my childe was close at hande and would be present in a twinklyng.
-That is a barefacd lie, he retorted.

I koude have runne hym through but with children presente I was not at liberty, byynge an example for the youthe as a cloakd Vigilante.

-Let me in the crèche then, I said quicke as a cat.

He grudgyngly allowd me into the colourful ball area which I thought tolerable and none too bryght. A nurse attemptd to comfort me when I fell from the blue ladder but I heroickally made for the greene one from whose summit I gave a superb Rendition of ‘Childe Behynde the Bar’ much to the astonishmente of all. However, I was on a commission so to speke and my rooms koude nott furnish themselves, so I bade farewelle to most of the denizens of the kaleidoscopick creche and left with a mother-of-twain namd Sophia, husband dec.

Her lyfe story I wyll not bore you wyth but it shoulde suffice to saye she was starvd of company and we entertaind ourselves wyth banterynge one or two of the other shoppers as we orderd oure Hottpot for Lunch. She was shoppynge for a brekefast barre and a kind of jackhammer I know not what. I strukke me I had not even sett foot on the shoppe floure and yet the peripheral entertainments were disractynge enough thatte I was drivn to wonder how I hadde come to thys Elysium at all excepte by the smyle of Fate.

-You are surely the loveliest Mother-of-Twain I have evere encounterd, eye pledgd across the steamynge Hotpot.

But duty calld. I was enforcd to begin my shoppe withoute so muche as a kisse from her, and I betook my cape and daggers to the chair department.

-The hardest and most incommodious chair you have, Sir. I ordered to the shoppe-boy.
He said he should trye and went to fetch a moste simple and utilitarian chayre which would turn a courtesan chaste.
-Here is one, Sir, he sayd, presenting me wyth the block-lyke thynge.
-This is horrendous, I mutterd. Now brynge the bedde whych maynt be slept on.
-Very well, sir. He trotted toward the cellar and gesturd for me to follow.

We passd through many rooms of chaynes, spykes etc that spoke well of the unprecedented Puritanism of the bedde I was plannynge to buye. Eventually, the shoppe-boy unveild a bedde with a surface lyke a billiard ball, and a contour so discontinuous one could pour rainwater on it and be left with ten or twelve separate pools.

-THATTE is the bedde for me, I stoutly announced.

The shoppe-boy was delighted and scratchd his humpe. He was doynge a litel jigge, I noted.

-Very well, sir, he replyd. He kepte jiggynge, as if he were clockworke.

I didde not know whatt it was but there came a ringynge in my ear lyke a silver bell hadde been sette to tinkle in me. Yet it tinkled out of season, and furthermore too quickly. And further to thatte I felt my balance shakynge and the bell was tollynge and not tinkling more. Thenne I felte the syngle eye on me agayne.

I lookd rounde, whereon I felt a sharpe whacke on my hede and a sense of occluding dizziness o’ertake your wholesome Thomas Nashe.

Burstynge Backe upon the Scene - An Analysis of the Underbelly - A Catalogue of Accoutrements - A Tripp Conceivd

I will not be blunte with you. I remaine confydent that yf literatvre operates at the uery keenest edge of existence, my continving preseunce at its lippe must implye a certeyn sharpenesse in myselfe. Rather thane sitte and be blounted by the vicissitudes and libidinousse styes of the citty, I colleckt uppe my penne and with an Herculean Efforte begyn again to Write on the electrick page.

My terrifyinge sickenesses havynge long passed, and the shippe that was to come in with 'Nashe' writ huge on the side havynge laid long out of harbour and eventually run agrounde on a rocke, I searche the streets for medication or solace in whatsoever measure the metropolis wyll dispence. I speke whyspers into keyholes to gain access to cigarre-chokd boudoirs where ill-dressd ladies desporte in flesshy dock-work and calculatynge men keep tyme wythe their adding-machines. I wryte my narrow pathe on the curlynge street of St John’s Wood where the grotesques shamble twain by fearful twain and I slip from bushe to bushe unseen. Nobody dares cross my pathe, for I carrye an armload of Projeckts and deceits by me, to thwart adventurous sailors or brygandes, fundamentalystes and othere ryders of the Crime-Wave. Lette me, for youre benefitt, catalogue my personal effects.

1. A smalle knyfe that can cutte through a bramble or wire.
2. A biggere knyfe thatte can could trimme a mammouthe.
3. A twelvegram of gunpowder.
4. A flake-jackket or bullette-proofe.
5. One brace duelling pistols by which I challenge assailantes to a duel.
6. One paire leather armbands for shew, wythe embossynges.
7. One crymson cape.
8. One monogrammd cutlasse.
9. One poignard to holde between my teethe.
10. One apple for a snacke.

It wyll by nowe be apparent that Nashe, unsafe in his own familiar neighbourhoode, has chosen to take the lawe into hys Owne Handes and is become the best kind of Hispanick VIGILANTE. Although I doe nat have a special name for myselfe, and neither have I observed some of the 20th-Century’s conventions regardynge tightness of Fitt and so forth, I am yet a fearsome and diabolical opponent wyth a smyle lyke a poisond arrow and a cutlass so trenchant it koude gutte a Bulle Elafaunt.

My roomes reducd to a feathery pulp by my anticking at practice, I aym to restore their Opulence by a tripp to the MFI, a journey whose consequences for the criminal underworlde wyll doubtlesse form the topick and measure of my ensuing poste.