The Mystery of Edwin Drood | Page 2

have another ready
for him, and he'll bear in mind the market price of opium, and pay

according." O my poor head! I makes my pipes of old penny ink-bottles,
ye see, deary--this is one--and I fits-in a mouthpiece, this way, and I
takes my mixter out of this thimble with this little horn spoon; and so I
fills, deary. Ah, my poor nerves! I got Heavens-hard drunk for sixteen
year afore I took to this; but this don't hurt me, not to speak of. And it
takes away the hunger as well as wittles, deary.'
She hands him the nearly-emptied pipe, and sinks back, turning over on
her face.
He rises unsteadily from the bed, lays the pipe upon the hearth- stone,
draws back the ragged curtain, and looks with repugnance at his three
companions. He notices that the woman has opium-smoked herself into
a strange likeness of the Chinaman. His form of cheek, eye, and temple,
and his colour, are repeated in her. Said Chinaman convulsively
wrestles with one of his many Gods or Devils, perhaps, and snarls
horribly. The Lascar laughs and dribbles at the mouth. The hostess is
still.
'What visions can SHE have?' the waking man muses, as he turns her
face towards him, and stands looking down at it. 'Visions of many
butchers' shops, and public-houses, and much credit? Of an increase of
hideous customers, and this horrible bedstead set upright again, and this
horrible court swept clean? What can she rise to, under any quantity of
opium, higher than that!--Eh?'
He bends down his ear, to listen to her mutterings.
'Unintelligible!'
As he watches the spasmodic shoots and darts that break out of her face
and limbs, like fitful lightning out of a dark sky, some contagion in
them seizes upon him: insomuch that he has to withdraw himself to a
lean arm-chair by the hearth--placed there, perhaps, for such
emergencies--and to sit in it, holding tight, until he has got the better of
this unclean spirit of imitation.
Then he comes back, pounces on the Chinaman, and seizing him with
both hands by the throat, turns him violently on the bed. The Chinaman
clutches the aggressive hands, resists, gasps, and protests.
'What do you say?'
A watchful pause.
'Unintelligible!'
Slowly loosening his grasp as he listens to the incoherent jargon with

an attentive frown, he turns to the Lascar and fairly drags him forth
upon the floor. As he falls, the Lascar starts into a half-risen attitude,
glares with his eyes, lashes about him fiercely with his arms, and draws
a phantom knife. It then becomes apparent that the woman has taken
possession of this knife, for safety's sake; for, she too starting up, and
restraining and expostulating with him, the knife is visible in her dress,
not in his, when they drowsily drop back, side by side.
There has been chattering and clattering enough between them, but to
no purpose. When any distinct word has been flung into the air, it has
had no sense or sequence. Wherefore 'unintelligible!' is again the
comment of the watcher, made with some reassured nodding of his
head, and a gloomy smile. He then lays certain silver money on the
table, finds his hat, gropes his way down the broken stairs, gives a good
morning to some rat-ridden doorkeeper, in bed in a black hutch beneath
the stairs, and passes out.
That same afternoon, the massive gray square tower of an old Cathedral
rises before the sight of a jaded traveller. The bells are going for daily
vesper service, and he must needs attend it, one would say, from his
haste to reach the open Cathedral door. The choir are getting on their
sullied white robes, in a hurry, when he arrives among them, gets on his
own robe, and falls into the procession filing in to service. Then, the
Sacristan locks the iron-barred gates that divide the sanctuary from the
chancel, and all of the procession having scuttled into their places, hide
their faces; and then the intoned words, 'WHEN THE WICKED
MAN--' rise among groins of arches and beams of roof, awakening
muttered thunder.




CHAPTER II
--A DEAN, AND A

CHAPTER ALSO

Whosoever has observed that sedate and clerical bird, the rook, may
perhaps have noticed that when he wings his way homeward towards
nightfall, in a sedate and clerical company, two rooks will suddenly
detach themselves from the rest, will retrace their flight for some
distance, and will there poise and linger; conveying to mere men the
fancy that it is of some occult importance to the body politic, that this
artful couple should pretend to have renounced connection with it.
Similarly, service being over in the old Cathedral with the square tower,
and the choir scuffling out again, and