The Illustrated Gormenghast Trilogy (73 page)

‘Only just,’ said the Doctor; and putting his teeth near Fuchsia’s ear he whispered: ‘She thinks she’s a lady.’ And then he grinned until the very lake seemed to be in danger of engulfment. ‘Oh, dear! the poor thing. Tries
so
hard, and the more she tries the less she
is
. Ha! ha! ha! Take it from me, Fuchsia dear, the only ladies are those to whom the idea of whether they are or not never occurs. Her blood’s all right – Irma’s – same as mine, ha, ha, ha! but it doesn’t go by blood. Its equipoise, my Gipsy, equipoise that does it – with a bucketful of tolerance thrown in. Why, bless my inappropriate soul, if I’m not treading on the skirts of the serious. Tut, tut, if I’m not.’

By now they were all sitting upon the rug and between them creating a monumental group of unusual grandeur. The little gusts of air were still leaping through the wood and ruffling the lake. The branches of the trees behind them chafed one another, and their leaves, like a million conspiring tongues, were husky with heresy.

Fuchsia was about to ask what ‘equipoise’ meant when her eye was caught by a movement among the trees on the farther side of the lake, and a moment later she was surprised to see a column of figures threading their way down to the shore, along which they began to move to the north, appearing and disappearing as the great water-growing cedars shrouded or revealed them.

Saving for the foremost figure, they carried loops of rope and the boughs of trees across their shoulders, and excepting the leader they appeared to be oldish men, for they moved heavily.

They were the Raft Makers, and were on their way by the traditional footpath, on the traditional day, to the traditional creek – that heat-hazy indentation of water backed by the crumbling wall and the coppice where the minnows and the tadpoles and the myriad microscopic small-fry of the warm, shallow water were so soon to be disturbed.

It was quite obvious who the leading figure was. There could be no mistaking that nimble, yet shuffling and edgeways-on – that horribly deliberate motivation that was neither walking nor running – both close to the ground as though on the scent, and yet loosely and nimbly above it.

Fuchsia watched him, fascinated. It was not often that Steerpike was to be seen without his knowing it. The Doctor, following Fuchsia’s eyes, was equally able to recognize the youth. His pink brow clouded. He had been cogitating a great deal lately on this and that –
this
being in the main the inscrutable and somehow ‘foreign’ youth, and
that
centring for the most part on the mysterious Burning. There had been so strange a crop of enigmas of late. If they had not been of so serious a character Doctor Prunesquallor would have found in them nothing but diversion. The unexpected did so much to relieve the monotony of the Castle’s endless rounds of unwavering procedure; but Death and Disappearance were no tit-bits for a jaded palate. They were too huge to be swallowed, and tasted like bile.

Although the Doctor, with a mind of his own, had positively heterodox opinions regarding certain aspects of the Castle’s life – opinions too free to be expressed in an atmosphere where the woof and warp of the dark place and its past were synonymous with the mesh of veins in the bodies of its denizens – yet he was
of
the place and was a freak only in that his mind worked in a wide way, relating and correlating his thoughts so that his conclusions were often clear and accurate and nothing short of heresy. But this did not mean that he considered himself to be superior. Oh no. He was not. The blind faith was the pure faith, however muddy the brain. His gem-like conclusions may have been of the first water, but his essence and his spirit were warped in proportion to his disbelief in the value of even the most footling observance. He was no outsider – and the tragedies that had occurred touched him upon the raw. His airy and fatuous manner was deceptive. As he trilled, as he prattled, as he indulged in his spontaneous ‘conceits’, as he gestured, fop-like and grotesque, his magnified eyes skidding to and fro behind the lenses of his glasses, like soap at the bottom of a bath, his brain was often other-where, and these days it was well occupied. He was marshalling the facts at his disposal – his odds and ends of information, and peering at them with the eye of his brain, now from this direction, now from that; now from below, now from above, as he talked, or seemed to listen, by day and by night, or in the evening with his feet on the mantelpiece, a liqueur at his elbow and his sister in the opposite chair.

He glanced at Fuchsia to make sure that she had recognized the distant boy, and was surprised to see a look of puzzled absorption on her dark face, her lips parted a little as though from a faint excitement. By now the crocodile of figures was rounding the bend of the lake away to their left. And then it stopped. Steerpike was moving away from the retainers, to the shore. He had apparently given them an order, for they all sat down among the shore-side pines and watched him as he stripped himself of his clothes and thrust his swordstick, point down, into the muddy bank. Even from so great a distance it could be seen that his shoulders were very hunched and high.

‘By all that’s public,’ said Prunesquallor, ‘so we have a new official, have we? The lakeside augury of things to come – fresh blood in summertime with forty years to go. The curtains part – precocity advances, ha, ha, ha! And what’s he doing now?’

Fuchsia had given a little gasp of surprise, for Steerpike had dived into the lake. A moment before he dived he had waved to them, although as far as they had been able to judge he had not so much as moved his eyes in their direction.

‘What was
that
?’ said Irma, swivelling her neck about in a most lubricated way. ‘I said, “what was
that
?”, Bernard. It sounded like a splash; do you hear me, Bernard? I say it sounded like a
splash
.’

‘That’s why,’ said her brother.

‘“That’s why?” What do you mean, Bernard by “that’s why”? You are so tiresome. I said, you are so tiresome. That’s why
what
?’

‘That’s why it was like a splash, my butterfly.’

‘But
why
? Oh, my conscience for a normal brother! Why, Bernard, was-it-like-a-splash?’

‘Only because it happened to be one, peahen,’ he said. ‘It was an authentic, undiluted splash. Ha! ha! ha! An undiluted splash.’

‘Oh!’ cried Mrs Slagg, her fingers plucking at her nether lip, ‘it wasn’t the shark, was it, Doctor sir? Oh, my weak heart, sir! Was it the shark?’

‘Nonsense!’ said Irma. ‘Nonsense, you silly woman! Sharks in Gormenghast Lake! The very idea!’

Fuchsia’s eyes were on Steerpike. He was a strong swimmer and was by now halfway across the lake, the thin white arms obtusely angled at the elbows methodically dipping and emerging.

Cora’s voice said: ‘I can see somebody.’

‘Where?’ said Clarice.

‘In the water.’

‘What? In the lake?’

‘Yes, that’s the only water there is, stupid.’

‘No, it isn’t.’

‘Well, it’s the only water there is that’s near us now.’

‘Oh yes, it’s the only water of
that
sort.’

‘Can you see him?’

‘I haven’t looked yet.’

‘Well, look now.’

‘Shall I?’

‘Yes. Now.’

‘Oh … I see a man. Do you see a man?’

‘I told
you
about him. Of course I do.’

‘He’s swimming to me.’

‘Why to you? It might as well be to me.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we’re just the same.’

‘That’s our glory.’

‘
And
our pride. Don’t forget that.’

‘No, I won’t.’

They stared at the approaching swimmer. His face was most of the time either under water or lying sideways along it to draw breath, and they had no idea that it was Steerpike.

‘Clarice,’ said Cora.

‘Yes.’

‘We are the only ladies present, aren’t we?’

‘Yes. What about it?’

‘Well, we’ll go down to the shore, so that when he arrives we can unbend to him.’

‘Will it hurt?’ said Clarice.

‘Why are you so ignorant of phrases?’ Cora turned her face to her sister’s profile.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ muttered Clarice.

‘I haven’t time to explain about language,’ said Cora. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Doesn’t it?’

‘No. But this is what does.’

‘Oh.’

‘We are being swum to.’

‘Yes.’

‘So we must receive his homage on the shore.’

‘Yes … yes.’

‘So we must go and patronize him now.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes, now. Are you ready?’

‘When I get up I’ll be.’

‘Have you finished?’

‘Nearly. Have you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Come on, then.’

‘Where?’

‘Don’t bother me with ignorance. Just walk where I do.’

‘Yes.’

‘Look!’

‘Look!’

Steerpike had found himself in his depth and was standing upright. The water lapped at the base of his ribs, the mud of the lake’s floor oozing between his toes, while he waved his arm over his head to the group, the bright drops falling from them in sparkling strings.

Fuchsia was excited. She loved what he had done. To suddenly see them, to throw off his clothes, to plunge into the deep water and to strike out across the lake to them, and then finally to stand, panting, with the water curling at his narrow wiry waist – was fine, all up on the spur of the moment.

Irma Prunesquallor who had not seen her ‘admirer’ for several weeks gave a shriek as she saw his naked body rising from the lake, and covering her face with her hands she peered between her fingers.

Nannie still couldn’t make out who it was, and months afterwards was still in doubt.

Steerpike’s voice sounded over the shallow water.

‘Well met!’ he shouted, ‘Only just saw you! Lady Fuchsia! good day. It’s delightful to see you again. How is your health? Miss Irma? Excuse my skin. And, Doctor, how’s yours?’

Then he gazed with his dark-red, close-together-eyes at the twins, who were paddling out to meet him, quite unconscious of the water up to their ankles.

‘You’re getting your legs wet, your ladyships. Be careful! Go back!’ cried the youth, in mock alarm, ‘You do me too much honour. For God’s sake, go back!’

It was necessary for him to shout in such a manner as gave no indication that he held authority over them. Indeed, he did not care two straws whether they marched on until they were up to their necks. It was a quaint situation. In the interests of modesty he could move no farther shorewards.

As he intended, they were unable to recognize the authority in his voice which they had learned to obey. The twins moved deeper in the water, and the Doctor, Fuchsia, and Nannie Slagg were amazed to see that they were up to their hips in the lake, the voluminous skirts of their purple dresses floating out magnificently.

Steerpike stared past them for a moment and indicated by a helpless shrugging of his shoulders and a display of the palms of his hands that he was powerless to cope with the situation. They had become very near him. Near enough for him to speak to them without being heard by the group which had by now gathered at the fringe of the lake.

In a low, quick voice, and one which he knew by experience would find an immediate response, he said: ‘Stand where you are. Not one more step, do you hear me? I have something to tell you. Unless you stand still and listen to me you will forfeit the golden thrones which are now complete and are on their way to your apartment. Go back now. Go back to the Castle – to your room, or there will be trouble.’

While he spoke he made signs to those on the shore; he shrugged his shoulders impotently. The while, his quick voice ran on, mesmerizing the twins, hip-deep among the sparkling ripples.

‘You will not speak of the Fire – and you will keep to yourselves and not go out and meet people as you are doing today against my orders. You have disobeyed. I shall arrive at your rooms at ten o’clock tonight. I am displeased, for you have broken your promise. Yet you shall have your glory; but only if you never speak of the Fire. Sit down at once!’ This peremptory order was one which Steerpike could not resist. Their eyes had been fixed on him as he spoke, and he wished to convince himself that they were powerless to disobey him at such moments as this – that they were unable to think of anything save what he was driving into their consciousness by the peculiar low voice which he adopted and by the constant repetition of a few simple maxims. A twist of his lips suggested the vile, overweening satisfaction he experienced as he watched the two purple creatures sink upon their rears in the lukewarm lake. Only their long necks and saucer-like faces remained above the surface. Surrounding each of them was the wavering fringe of a purple skirt.

Directly he had seen, tasted and absorbed the delicious essence of the situation, his voice rapped out: ‘Go back! Back to your rooms and wait for me. Back at once – no talking on the shore.’

As they sank into the lake, automatically, at his orders, he had, for the benefit of the watchers, clasped his head in his hands as though in desperation.