Read Online Printer's Devil (9780316167826) by Paul Bajoria - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Paul Bajoria
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and the sailor who’d stopped me on the dockside as though he knew exactly who I was….
Something was happening, and I was a part of it, without my having known it. For all I knew I might have been a part of it
for months, or even years, and never had a clue. What I had to find out now was — just what was going on?
I reached for the bits of paper I’d stuffed into my shirt at the thieves’ cellar, and laid them out across the bed. In some
small way, they might be able to give me some clues. One or both of the ugly villains who’d locked me up today was obviously
able to read quite well, since some of the papers were densely covered with tiny writing. I wondered if they’d returned to
the cellar yet to find me gone. Instinctively I looked up at the dark window, and felt so uncomfortable I got up to pull the
curtain across.
As well as the scrappy note from the bosun, I found a list of names covering two sides of a sheet of paper, scrawled almost
illegibly in brownish ink. Holding itnear the candle, I saw one or two names I could decipher. “Blandarm” seemed to be one, “Fetchwood” another, “Jacob Tenderloin”
a third. There must have been forty or fifty names altogether. Were these people involved in the plot? It was rather foolish,
I felt, to keep written lists of them, if they were. I laid the list aside and unfolded the next piece of paper. It was a
letter, in quite a refined hand. It had obviously been folded up for rather a long time, and the words closest to the creases
had more or less faded away. I had to strain my eyes to read any of it, but a few phrases emerged. “I charge you with this
solemn duty,” I read. Then, farther down, “whatever the imminent fate of the soul.” Was it a sermon?
And, farther down still, a line which appeared to read: “I fear it will not be possible to reach Damyata now.”
This didn’t make any sense to me. If it was the name of a place, it was nowhere I had ever heard of. The writing was faded
and it was hard to be sure of the exact letters: it might possibly have said “Oomyata,” or, in a pinch, “Damyalu.” But whatever
combination of letters I tried, I couldn’t make it mean anything. I folded it up again with a shrug.
Beneath it was a tatty strip torn from a newspaper, with a tiny notice in one corner which someone had ringed in blurry pencil.
The EAST INDIA COMPANY vessel the
SUN OF CALCUTTA
under Capt. Geo. Shakeshere will put in at London at the end of her voyage this coming SUNDAY the 16th day of MAY. Traveling
with her, Company employees returning from duty in Calcutta, also Sgt. CORNCRAKE of the Third Welsh, reported severely ill,
and Dr. Hamish LOTHIAN of Edinburgh. Cargo principally of SPICES to be released before TUESDAY. Unloading under GUARD.
There was also a square of rather tatty parchment with a grubby little hole in one end, as though it had been nailed to something.
On it was the oddest writing I’d ever seen, if it was writing at all. No matter which way up I held it, I couldn’t make head
or tail of the funny little shapes.
I sat staring at it for a while, trying to fix the characters in my mind. Eventually I put it aside and picked upthe last piece of paper, which was a handwritten document seeming to have something to do with customs duty. The lamplight,
glowing through the translucent parchment, picked out a strange watermark with a symbol like a dog curled up asleep. Its head
was facing its tail and the tail seemed to stretch forward right into the dog’s mouth, as though it were beginning the slow
process of eating itself. I was so intrigued by the watermark it was a while before I read the words. I didn’t fully understand
it, but I gathered it was a customs document certifying that someone had paid four pounds for the receipt of certain goods
from overseas. It was dated the 17th of May, which was yesterday’s date; and at the very end there was a signature like a
Something was happening, and I was a part of it, without my having known it. For all I knew I might have been a part of it
for months, or even years, and never had a clue. What I had to find out now was — just what was going on?
I reached for the bits of paper I’d stuffed into my shirt at the thieves’ cellar, and laid them out across the bed. In some
small way, they might be able to give me some clues. One or both of the ugly villains who’d locked me up today was obviously
able to read quite well, since some of the papers were densely covered with tiny writing. I wondered if they’d returned to
the cellar yet to find me gone. Instinctively I looked up at the dark window, and felt so uncomfortable I got up to pull the
curtain across.
As well as the scrappy note from the bosun, I found a list of names covering two sides of a sheet of paper, scrawled almost
illegibly in brownish ink. Holding itnear the candle, I saw one or two names I could decipher. “Blandarm” seemed to be one, “Fetchwood” another, “Jacob Tenderloin”
a third. There must have been forty or fifty names altogether. Were these people involved in the plot? It was rather foolish,
I felt, to keep written lists of them, if they were. I laid the list aside and unfolded the next piece of paper. It was a
letter, in quite a refined hand. It had obviously been folded up for rather a long time, and the words closest to the creases
had more or less faded away. I had to strain my eyes to read any of it, but a few phrases emerged. “I charge you with this
solemn duty,” I read. Then, farther down, “whatever the imminent fate of the soul.” Was it a sermon?
And, farther down still, a line which appeared to read: “I fear it will not be possible to reach Damyata now.”
This didn’t make any sense to me. If it was the name of a place, it was nowhere I had ever heard of. The writing was faded
and it was hard to be sure of the exact letters: it might possibly have said “Oomyata,” or, in a pinch, “Damyalu.” But whatever
combination of letters I tried, I couldn’t make it mean anything. I folded it up again with a shrug.
Beneath it was a tatty strip torn from a newspaper, with a tiny notice in one corner which someone had ringed in blurry pencil.
The EAST INDIA COMPANY vessel the
SUN OF CALCUTTA
under Capt. Geo. Shakeshere will put in at London at the end of her voyage this coming SUNDAY the 16th day of MAY. Traveling
with her, Company employees returning from duty in Calcutta, also Sgt. CORNCRAKE of the Third Welsh, reported severely ill,
and Dr. Hamish LOTHIAN of Edinburgh. Cargo principally of SPICES to be released before TUESDAY. Unloading under GUARD.
There was also a square of rather tatty parchment with a grubby little hole in one end, as though it had been nailed to something.
On it was the oddest writing I’d ever seen, if it was writing at all. No matter which way up I held it, I couldn’t make head
or tail of the funny little shapes.
I sat staring at it for a while, trying to fix the characters in my mind. Eventually I put it aside and picked upthe last piece of paper, which was a handwritten document seeming to have something to do with customs duty. The lamplight,
glowing through the translucent parchment, picked out a strange watermark with a symbol like a dog curled up asleep. Its head
was facing its tail and the tail seemed to stretch forward right into the dog’s mouth, as though it were beginning the slow
process of eating itself. I was so intrigued by the watermark it was a while before I read the words. I didn’t fully understand
it, but I gathered it was a customs document certifying that someone had paid four pounds for the receipt of certain goods
from overseas. It was dated the 17th of May, which was yesterday’s date; and at the very end there was a signature like a
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