The Illustrated Gormenghast Trilogy - Mervyn Peake [137]
He removed a swab of cloth from her shoulder slowly and peered to see whether the blood would continue to flow.
‘Keep still,’ he said. ‘Keep your arm as still as you can. How’s the pain?’
‘I’m all right,’ said Fuchsia.
‘Don’t be heroic,’ he said, sitting back on his heels, ‘We’re not playing a game. I want to know exactly how much you’re in pain – not whether you are brave or not. I know that already. Which hurts you most?’
‘My leg,’ said Fuchsia. ‘It makes me want to be ill. And I’m cold. Now you know.’
Their eyes met in the half light.
Steerpike straightened himself, ‘I’m going to leave you,’ he said. ‘Otherwise the cold will gnaw you to bits, I can’t get you back to the castle alone. I’ll fetch the Prune and a stretcher. You’ll be all right here. I’ll go now, at once. We’ll be back within half an hour. I can move when I want to.’
‘Steerpike,’ said Fuchsia.
He knelt down at once. ‘What is it?’ he said, speaking very softly.
‘You’ve done quite a lot to help,’ she said.
‘Nothing much,’ he replied. His hand was close to hers.
The silence which followed became ludicrous and he got to his feet.
‘Mustn’t stay.’ He had sensed the beginning of something less frigid. He would leave things as they were. ‘You’ll be shaking like a leaf if I don’t hurry. Keep absolutely still.’
He laid his coat over her and then walked the few paces to the opening.
Fuchsia watched his hunched yet slender outline as he stood for a moment before plunging into the rain-swept gully. Then he had gone, and she remained quite still, as he had told her, and listened to the pounding of the rain.
Steerpike’s boast as to his fleetness was not an idle one. With incredible agility he leapt from boulder to boulder until he had reached the head of the gully and from there, down the long slopes of the escarpment, he sped like a Dervish. But he was not reckless. Every one of his steps was a calculated result of a decision taken at a swifter speed than his feet could travel.
At length the rocks were left behind and the castle emerged through a dull blanket.
His entrance into the Prunesquallors’ was dramatic. Irma, who had never before seen any male skin other than that which protrudes beyond the collar and the cuffs, gave a piercing cry and fell into her brother’s arms only to recover at once and to dash from the room in a typhoon of black silk. Prunesquallor and Steerpike could hear the stair rods rattling as she whirled her way up the staircase and the crashing of her bedroom door set the pictures swaying on the walls of all the downstairs rooms.
Dr Prunesquallor had circled around Steerpike with his head drawn back so that his cervical vertebrae rested against the rear wall of his high collar, and a plumbless abysm yawned between his Adam’s apple and his pearl stud. With his head bridled backwards thus, somewhat in the position of a cobra about to strike, and with his eyebrows raised quizzically, he was yet able at the same time to flash both tiers of his startling teeth which caught and reflected the lamplight with an unnatural brilliancy.
He was in an ecstasy of astonishment. The spectacle of a half-nude, dripping Steerpike both repelled and delighted him. Every now and again Steerpike and the Doctor could hear an extraordinary moaning from the floor above.
When, however, the Doctor heard the cause of the boy’s appearance, he was at once on the move. It had not taken Steerpike long to explain what had happened. Within a few moments the Doctor had packed up a small bag and rung for the cook to fetch both a stretcher and a couple of young men as bearers.
Meanwhile, Steerpike had dived into another suit and run across to Mrs Slagg in the castle, whom he instructed to replenish the fire and to have Fuchsia’s bed ready and some hot drink brewing, leaving her in a state of querulous collapse, which was not remedied by his tickling her rudely in the ribs as he skipped past her to the door.
Coming into the