EDMUND CRISPIN Holy Disorders
Ther saugh I first the derke ymaginyng
Of felonye, and al the compassyng;
The crueel ire, reed as any gleede;
The pykepurs, and eke the pale drede;
The smylere, with the knyfe under the cloke;
The shepne, brennynge with the blake smoke;
The tresoun of the mordrynge in the bedde;
The open werre, with woundes al bibledde…
The nayl y-driven in the shode a-nyght;
The colde deeth, with mouth gapyng upright…’
Chaucer An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF First published in Great Britain by Victor Gollancz 1946 Copyright © Rights Limited, 1946. All rights reserved Edmund Crispin has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017 Cover image © Shutterstock.com A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Source ISBN: 9780008124182 Ebook Edition © June 2015 ISBN: 9780008124199 Version: 2017-10-26 To my parents Contents
Chapter 1: Invitation and Warning
Chapter 2: Do not Travel for Pleasure
Chapter 6: Murder in the Cathedral
Chapter 9: Three Suspects and a Witch
Chapter 14: In the Last Analysis
Chapter 15: Reassurance and Farewell
As his taxi burrowed its way through the traffic outside Waterloo
Continually at my bed’s head
A hearse doth hang, which doth me tell
That I ere morning may be dead…
SOUTHWELL
