First published on September 4, 2012.

The original description: “A shipping clearance clerk arrives to London in order to control some consignments from freighters up to their destinations. Watch the hectic traffic of a Victorian era port as our efficient product of bureaucratic education collides with something he cannot compute.“

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Dedicated to Sissi, our faithful companion 1990-2010

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My residency on Cocton Street during fall of 1875 started with a different telegraph from my employer–a notable shipbroker–instructing me to travel to London at once, with luggage for several weeks’ stay near St. Katharine’s Docks, in order to clear several consignments from India. Arriving to Euston station I left my large travelling chest to post-delivery and took a Hansom cab, equipped only with my portfolio containing the most important papers and codebook for company telegraphs. Cocton Street 12 was only few blocks away from the docks and before releasing my driver I queried whether the alleys between Cocton Street and docks were safe or should I establish some route when finding it necessary to visit there. I got a short reply instructing me to avoid travelling there just before call-ons: The very moments the poor part of the society headed en masse to the docks to fight for few hours’ work unloading the ships; otherwise the greatest threats were rookery ‘workers’ and pickpockets. I paid him and entered the doorway of a red two-storey building numbered ’12’. I rang the bell and suddenly was facing a tall middle-aged woman in dark green dress. Her dark and greyish hair was tied on top and leery eyes were measuring my person for a moment; this countenance told me she was Mrs Wallis, the landlady of Cocton Street 12. After presenting myself as a proud shipping agent she at once growled me to follow her into left side corridor. The odor of her mastery upon this house was strong, which reminded me of my school years. At least there would be no juvenile delinquency around.

I felt a bit reluctant for I was more than used to avoid dwelling in first floors; it was swept away when I found out that my employer did not make savings at wrong places: I had a nice two-room residence, half-empty but then I certainly had no other needs than a decent roll top office desk with good chair, decent bookcases and a simple tidy bed in other room with nightstand and hearth in both rooms. Lighting was satisfactory with sash windows, table lamp in both rooms and a pendant light over my desk, not to mention couple of spare candles on nightstand. Matches were laid within reach. The only thing that bothered me was the red wallpaper with odd patterns in bedroom, but I hastily judged myself as a man of work; rare were the matters that got my attention away from the papers that ensured the unscathed travelling of commodities. When the duty was done, I always slept well regardless of decorations, lighting or moderate noises. As I expressed my acceptance, the landlady turned to me arms crossed over her chest and instructed dryly:

‘Breakfast at half past seven ’til nine. Midday meal twelve o’clock and supper is up five to seven o’clock. Tea is available afternoon and evening. No women except family or kin. No animals. No racket. Mailbox is outside next to front door; here’s the key.’

Having declared this, she turned on her heels and marched out of the residence. I sat down and opened another letter from my portfolio. It instructed me to be present as soon as each ship was moored and an officer of dock company would be taking samples of freight. I went sulky for a moment, for according to instructions the first ship from Empire’s edges would be SS Centaur next morning. This would realize of course, only if Board of Trade refrained from declaring last moment gale warnings. However, I would not have time to make myself familiar with the docks and local procedures. My pondering was abruptly suspended by arrival of the station worker with my luggage. I paid him off and spent a good time assorting books and papers to bookcase and drawers. My evening would be spent arranging papers of SS Centaur. Having just laid the last amendments to the Maritime Act onto the shelf, a bell rang throughout the house for supper. It was served in large room, furnished with only one long table. I noticed to be the sole hungry soul, only couple of maids could be observed in the scullery. Personally I did not refrain from table company but at the moment I used my solitude to create schemes in my head as I enjoyed soup and pudding. Freights, maneuvering along the routes over ship rails to inspections, customs and clearing, haunted along my spine until I realized I was out in the street lighting a cigar; a self-born practice of active unconsciousness because of which I suspected myself having become a true machine in the innocent age of only 25, so perfect was my ability to form and keep arranged patterns of professional procedures in my head, without having to worry where my feet are taking me.

Tobacco made me a bit queasy with tiredness due travelling, so I finished after a couple of inhales and hurried back inside as the street grew darker and gaslight begun its duty. I was arrogant enough to ask Mrs Wallis if I could have tea served in my study before eight o’clock. She made no objections upon this and at last I sat down at my desk starting the paperwork, interrupted briefly by a maid serving the tea minutes before eight o’clock. I finished my duties well past ten and decided to call it a day with cigar outside. Helped by slight wind I accidentally banged the door shut and was not surprised to see the heavy curtains move in landlady’s end of the house. I had a look to the rest of the house: It was older than the docks, perchance Georgian era but it was safely out of the way of Docks’ expansion, when the oldest and poorest slums were rolled down. Sash windows were kept clean but the brick wall had suffered of smoke. It was quite an ideal house for companies to lodge their clerks when the shore offices were crammed, though I would have preferred my work done near my subjects. A couple of suspicious figures moved across the street far off. A Bobby appeared from other direction and lifted his hand to helmet greeting me as he passed. All the time there was the commotion of working world a few blocks off, noise of goods moving from and into ships and random smell telling the quality of freights; that of tar was more permanent. I inspected the mailbox and returned inside, having a firm plan to settle for a good night’s sleep. After a small wash I changed to night shirt and slipped between sheets, adjusted oil lamp and grasped a book of maritime history, chuckling arrogantly now and then to certain historical practices; and getting serious at those points where a ton of official papers had displaced a good old hand-to-hand procedure. My last thought before dozing off may have been: ‘Nothing is simple anymore; the past is where we left it and there is no looking back amidst our own complexity.’

*

I woke up in something that was an extraordinary state for me; I was panting and sweating. This was due most peculiar nightmare I tried to revive from. I forgot it at the very moment I heard something shuffling in the room. I sat up in the bed and was shortly perplexed by noise of falling book. I must have fallen asleep with it; yet the oil lamp was doused. It had been refilled as I tested it upon my arrival. Turning the knob lighted it up so there was some spark alive. I dropped my contemplation as the source of shuffling noise was now reacting to the light. I rubbed the sleep and sweat off my face and saw in a instant that someone was hiding in the shadows of chimney in the opposite corner. I could distinguish it a size of a man wearing some sort of cloak, and it was starting and turning. At the same time I became aware of the room’s cold air; my exhalation got visible. An overwhelming stench of something rotten took over; a mixture of moldy wood and stale fish. Was a window open and some odd freight was being operated?

‘Hullo, who goes there?’ I called, still without fear, ‘I have to ask your leave, this apartment is reserved!’

The only reply to my–ridiculous to this occasion–inquiry was muffled coughing. I was getting excited as my only assumption to this presence was that of a beggar seeking for warm; or a burglar, in which case I could be in danger as well. I reached the bell rope and woke up the poor landlady in the other end of the house. Then I stepped up from the bed, throwing my blankets with a violent gesture in a hope that such movement would raise fear within the intruder. I grabbed the lamp, ready to convert it to a weapon if needed; not that I gave a single though to possible fire. Now the intruder turned face; I stumbled backwards to bed in terror: The face revealed was not identifiable to one of a man or woman. It was swollen with yellow blotches. Its mouth was twisted by tumor and the nose would have been almost humorous, were the surroundings not turning one to terror. My eyes locked into repulsive creature’s eyes which were glowing white without details. At the same moment the twisted mouth opened, revealing black tongue and rotten teeth; the cloak dropped onto shoulders disclosing the crown with sparse hair and ragged skin from where the top of the skull was visible. The thing screamed; my ears were about to be torn from my head, the sound was thousand times iron scratching iron. The rotten face seemed to continue forever. I squeezed my head between my hands, eyes tightly closed. All of a sudden the corridor door was opened, screaming ceased and I heard the landlady’s angry tone. I struggled to turn my face to her as she stepped into my room in a white night gown and cap. I pointed to the corner and said with trembling voice:

‘Watch..!’

Her response was to raise a heavy broom.

‘Be still, I’ll handle it!’ she commanded and I certainly was not going against her instructions. But when I turned back to see the monstrosity, I saw only a huge rat scurrying speedily towards hearth.

‘What..?’ I managed to utter at the moment the broom flew across the room and clattered to the mantelpiece. But the creature was gone.

‘You all right?’ she queried, for I knew a was all white and dripping cold sweat. I muttered a word hardly audible:

‘Abomination.’

‘What you say? I thought you port paper tossers are used to these blighters.’

‘Not a rat.’

‘Of course it was. And a big one. Listen, mister, I need my sleep and you can take that poker next to your bed.’

‘Another room then, please. Didn’t you hear the scream?’

‘What scream? Pardon me, but tomorrow there is coming a whole load of shipping agents and I have arranged every apartment according their wishes. Besides, there haven’t been rats around for years, perhaps this one will not return,’ she insisted while I was trying to resuscitate from the original thing dwelling in my memory. There was neither more smell nor cold.

‘Whatever. I’m grateful for your help. I better return to sleep. Good night.’

‘G’night,’ she replied, collected her broom and left the residence. I sprang up and sought along the wall and hearth though I did not have a clue what I was seeking. I dug the rear wall of the hearth with poker and found a suitable hole for scurrying trespassers. That would be patched on next possible instant. I stood up and faced the mantel clock telling it was close to two o’clock. I sat down to bed trying to clear my thoughts but the hideous face and screaming haunted there. Then came the recollection of freezing air with the abominable stench. At once I jumped and moved the heavy curtains aside but the sash windows were closed and intact. Light post stood reassuringly and a policeman was duly stepping and measuring the cobblestones before disappearing behind next block. There was nothing but withdrawal to the bed and sign up everything as a mere nightmare; and perhaps a real rat which could have tricked a dreamy mind. Nevertheless, I set the poker within my reach and fell asleep.

*

My next dream–or better said nightmare–was almost the same as before the terrific incident: The sky was strange mixture of yellow and red dusk, and dim light bore similarity to a moment before thunderstorm. I was walking on strange streets paved with mud and filth, between dirty and rotten wood huts. Mrs Wallis was with me in his night dress, carrying her broom like a rifle. A boy in his rags and dirty face appeared from one hut, a dead cat hanging by tail from his hand; he smirked at us but before I could say anything, a filthy man in strange clothing and a soft cap appeared, pulling a cart crammed with bare corpses, all carrying horrific marks similar to my hideous intruder. I felt urgency to look at my feet and they were buried under a scurrying mass of rats; they were everywhere. They overran the boy carrying dead cat but the poor man pulling the corpses was singing and left alone. He disappeared to a crossroads and then the rats turned on us. Again I woke up sweating, remaining in a stunned pose for a good moment. The mantel clock indicated half past five so I decided to start my day, however a bit shaken and the inadequate sleep would certainly claim the debt later.

*

I appeared to breakfast as soon as it was served, took a couple of extra fruits to refresh my head, which was slowly recovering from the night and was firmly taking the course accepting the hideous visitor as a nightmare and the rat a real life creature. I wondered if I should notice the Company, in which case the Board of Health would pay a visit to poor Mrs Wallis. I decided to forget it, unless there were more unpleasant meetings with rodents. I left the house in confidence that Mrs Wallis would take care of the nuisance.

I had selected a time spot of well over seven; the mass of struggling men had streamed past the gates and were keeping a horrible racket in front of foremen who were in their little towers picking them to unload freights and earn money just to survive another day. Most desperate ones were climbing to other’s shoulders to get attention. I was content enough to find SS Centaur moored and unloading about to begin quayside. As soon as a company officer had taken his samples and that way I could be assured about the content of freight, I took an arrogant moment watching the goods flowing in the center of the world. The scene was something worth a moment of pride in this profession, even if it was not aesthetic to every eye, ears or nose. Amidst my vanity I got an uncomfortable feeling of being stared at. I turned my eyes from lighters crisscrossing the river to focus them on the rails of SS Centaur. At first I did not find anyone watching my way, but then I located a large grey cat sitting on a container on the deck of SS Centaur. At least it was of feline origin, but it seemed rather good-sized to be just ordinary domestic or ship cat. It possessed a good amount of black spots which I first mistook as dirt. Ears were moving unevenly, like it was contemplating about me being there. It lowered its body and moved the tail lifting its rear a bit, starting towards me. I withdrew a couple of steps and at the same moment a dark young man sprang in the deck shouting foreign words towards the cat. It was too late, the gray feline took a leap and suddenly was at my feet pushing them so that I almost stumbled. The dark sailor was at the rail mumbling more foreign words towards us. An older sailor arrived and ordered the alarmed young man back to his business and stayed grinning to me and my brand new friend:

‘Ahoy there, you takin’ Ahmed’s beast? Don’t worry, she keeps doing that every port and returns onboard, always in time before sailing out. One hell of a rat-catcher she is. Just ignore her.’

‘Your Ahmed seems not too happy about it,’ I replied.

‘Nay, he treats the beast like she was some god. Calls her with a name Bastet, some Egyptian nonsense I say.’

‘Rat-catcher, eh? Mrs Wallis would get a fit if I took you to work in my so-called office,’ I smirked to cat who was now happily trembling her tail. I observed again her dirt spots and noticed they were rather a part of her coloring. I ventured to scratch her neck and she answered with hand trembling purr.

‘Well, off you go, back to your master Ahmed. I have my business to offices,’ I noted and left to have an exchange of paper mountain in dock and telegraph offices. I couldn’t help noticing that Bastet was now following in my heels but halted and sat down when I entered the offices. I forgot the creature while climbing up and down storeys, collecting, delivering, inspecting and signing formalities. Only when I had finished and walked out through gates, I let out a loud curse: The creature was prancing on my heels with complacence. I decided that she would not be kicked away but I had to devise a suitable plan if I was to leave her outside once in destination. To my surprise this was not needed. The creature remained sitting in the other side of the street when I returned to boarding house. After having some tea I entered my rooms, threw my bowler towards the rack and almost fell to my back when a stout grey lightning bolted across the room to snatch the hat mid-air.

‘What? No, no, again no! You don’t belong here, you must return to your ship,’ I muttered to Bastet who was ready for another play when I collected the bowler. I decided to measure her doggedness by calling Mrs Wallis with her broom; there was no doubt of the result, even if I was ready to receive some unfair reproach for smuggling in animals. Mrs Wallis arrived and duly began her work, which was clearly perplexing the creature, who did not fight back, but holding her head low stole herself between the swinging broom and wall with finesse. I heard Mrs Wallis’ voice following the cat:

‘There you go! Out! Out! Hold the door mister, cheer!’ she rampaged with great racket and perhaps frightened some unfortunate guest entering the hall. I let out an audible sigh and sat down about my business.

*

SS Centaur was due departure next morning and I would have next one–SS Unicorn–moored in. The clearing was taken care of and consignment would already be travelling along the countryside. I decided for supper and left SS Unicorn to late hours. I was not surprised to meet my furry friend out in the street, though I almost dropped my cigar when it appeared from nowhere to push against my feet.

‘Aw, girlie, you should return to Ahmed; I cleared your home for sailing in the morning. Well, you do not care of Mrs Wallis; she does not know you’re the one killing off the plagues.’

The only reply was slight meowing. Bastet made no effort to follow me inside but again remained sitting in the other side of the street, watching my window as I sat at my desk. I shook my head and with great effort concentrated on SS Unicorn. Accomplishing this in three hours I rewarded myself with tobacco; but there was no cat in sight on Cocton Street as I stepped out and tried to inhale the fresh air out of different odors from docks, before exchanging it to cigar smoke. Later, after washing I sat on the edge of the bed and recollected the previous night’s dreaming. In the silence I paid closer attention to bedroom’s wallpapering. The odd patterns drawn with black in red papering seemed to have more forms than one could tell from a distance. I took the night lamp and inspected closer. I found myself a bit bewildered as the waves and angles and seeming flora were actually very old drawings, or at least copied from centuries old art. The subject was somehow familiar: There were fortified towns and villages depicted from bird angle; the scaling between people and buildings was out of proportions. Inside the walls were heaps of dead people, with black-cloaked Death himself grinning on top of each tower. There were the cursed souls dragging carts of corpses and drawing marks on the doors. The whole wallpaper was a repulsive copy of some old painting or tapestry, depicting the sinister and remorseless character of plague.

‘Why not rats?’ I thought by myself and started immediately, shaken by my own words for I remembered the previous night’s dream creature which turned into real-life rat. There was no mistaking of the clothing in paintings being similar to the dream. I withdrew to the bed and noticed how the wallpaper was again red with black waves and angles, and flora. I contemplated a moment and produced a rational conclusion:

‘Somehow I noticed the reality of the wallpaper earlier and it returned in my dreams. I might ask Mrs Wallis to order cleaning of the walls for further comfort of lodgers.’

Having a satisfactory explanation, I reclined to bed and proceeded to sleep. For some reason I did not douse the night lamp. My last thought before sleep was about Bastet.

*

My first thought upon violent awakening was about Bastet. She was standing on my feet on the bed end arching her back, with fur standing straight up and hissing audibly, revealing her teeth. My awakening was due her claws sinking through the blanket into my feet with such a force and pain that I did not have a moment’s doubt about being really awake. The air was freezing and cold perspiration started again as I saw a wide mass shuffling about on the side of the chimney. Bastet was giving her best threat to that direction. This time there were four, maybe five beings dwelling in the room; they all turned their rotten yellow-spotted faces with tumors upon me. Rotten mouths opened for that appalling scream but this time there was Bastet who got their attention. At the same moment I rolled-—by accident or with purpose, I cannot tell—-and fell to the other side of the bed. As in lightning speed, Bastet was bolting through the air towards the hideous shuffling mass with rotten faces. Suddenly it all was a grey squeaking vortex; I was certainly watching my mouth wide open as Bastet fought with great ferocity against several rats. No faces but rats. I heard a sickening thud from the wall and I saw a bloody rat with spread intestines literally flowing down to floor next to me. Drops of blood were spilling around the dark corner as I momentarily saw Bastet throwing a rat around in her teeth and other rats hanging and seemingly tearing her to pieces. Another rat flew through the air, grasped the bell rope and attempted to climb it but finally dropped and bled to death. None the less, the result of clinging was Mrs Wallis’ angry voice from the corridor, as well as other voices of the guests. The door was thrown open and Mrs Wallis marched to the spot, only to halt abruptly and watch mouth open the horrible scene. As soon as she stopped, from the hearth appeared some twenty more rats and all of them, except dying ones, flowed as a stream out to corridor. Mrs Wallis screamed but I sprang up and to the corridor, slapping her shoulder as I passed her:

‘Come on, Mrs Wallis; the door!’

She shook her head, raised the broom and joined the pursuit to the hall where couple of other guests were standing on the table, eyes wide and face all white and holding each other. Bastet was in the middle of the stream, throwing her victims around. Mrs Wallis reached the outer door first and let the grey vortex roll out. Suddenly there were only two bloody rats staggering out and then they were gone. To the alleys, to other buildings but I had a feeling they would not return too soon. Again, I had not any clear picture what had really happened but when I leaned against the wall, I remembered Bastet and stepped outside calling her. I heard a weak meow on the root of the fence. I picked a lamp from the hall and went for closer examination. Bastet was lying under a bush, blood burst from several lacerated wounds, fur turned red and she was coughing blood. Her tail and front paw were hanging by shreds; one eye was gone. Yet she noticed me and painfully stood up and as I tried to reach, she hissed one last time revealing her teeth, suggesting that she needed to be left alone. She limped quietly around the corner of the house to the darkness. I had no courage to follow her but turned to Mrs Wallis:

‘How about some tea and if you have some, I would not refuse something stronger?’

I had feverish feeling with trembling heart; suddenly everything went black. I woke up in my bed, another guest and Mrs Wallis standing beside. The worst was cleaned away, the room was warm and aired.

‘Oh, I thought you contracted some disease. That amount of filthy rats around. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to say to your company, this has been a decent house as long a I have…’

‘Let it be, Mrs Wallis. Let’s just say they were passing by; my bad luck. I think they didn’t bite me. The Board of Health may intervene, though.’

‘That cat. Quite extraordinary one. Yours?’ asked the other guest.

‘Oh, not mine. I think we just had a temporary friend solving our furry problem. I think it went about cats’ business. I think it… She is quite happy now.’

‘Right. You are still feverish. I warmed some broth, here.’

‘Thank you. Say, Mrs Wallis, have you ever paid attention to these wallpapers?’

‘I can’t say I have. Not a joy for eye but not disgusting either.’

‘Well, you see there,’ said I as I painful sat up in bed and turned to point out the plague era paintings.

‘What?’ asked the other guest as they were trying to examine the wallpaper closer. The fact that black waves were only black waves and black angles were only black angles on red wallpaper did not make me feel better. The hellish drawings were gone. Not even a magnifying glass would bring them back; not that I wished such thing occurring.

‘Nothing, I’m sorry,’ said I as I dropped my head back to pillow, ‘I’ll just sleep now.’

*

In the morning my head was some more clear. I did not care about breakfast, instead I went out and brushed around the bushes at the rear corner of the house, and found Bastet. She had curled herself in a sleeping pose, the surviving eye half closed. She had been cold for couple of hours now. I knew what I had to do. I still felt a bit feverish but I had to see SS Centaur before she cleared her moorings. It might have been too late, but there arrived a messenger bringing a note from Board of Trade who reported about strong gales in North Sea, which meant that SS Centaur would be delayed. I perplexed scullery maids by entering the kitchen door and asking them a suitable box for my ‘belongings’. I carefully lifted Bastet’s stiffened body and set her in her sleeping pose into a wooden box I was provided, and pushed a lid upon it. I washed my hands and proceeded to collect my portfolio for the casual work, and headed to the Docks. My coffin for Bastet provided quite heavy one before I stood again at the railings of SS Centaur.

‘Ahoy there! Where’s the cat, where did you leave that nuisance of Ahmed’s?’

The old seaman was leaning to railing, apparently relaxed due lessened haste provided by bad weather.

‘Erm… I’m afraid I have bad news for him. About…’

I never completed my sentence, for a large grey cat bolted past me and straight onboard. The seaman smirked:

‘Thar you are. I reckon’d we were going to bunk with rats but yer back. Ahmed! C’me here and say hullo to your hairball!’

The young Egyptian ran across the deck and danced around the stoically sitting cat, but did not touch her. There remained no doubt of him recognizing his friend. My recognition failed due sterling disbelief. Suddenly I grew tired of the whole circus, put the box down on the quay and removed the cover to show my truth; but I found only carcasses of two dead rats in the box which I could adjure had previously a dead cat in it. Bastet was staring me from the deck of her ship; fur sleek, eyes sharp; strong tail rolled around her paws. Speechless, I moved sideways with the box and dropped it to water. The box floated along the dock pool with its singular passengers. Suddenly I laughed to my recent experiences, to myself and to my single-eyed perceptions of world. I knew the feline creature which I saw following me everywhere, keeping watch and fighting her–supposedly final–battle against horde of ghastly rats and whom I buried torn apart into a box, was definitely Bastet; but so was the spotted feline which now was sitting on the deck of SS Centaur. I felt her eyes on my back as I turned and headed for the gates, chuckling with odd laughter; my apprehensions of world’s center and my excellent paper handling head shattered, perhaps forever.

* * *