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.