The Illustrated Gormenghast Trilogy - Mervyn Peake [239]
As soon as he had closed the door behind him he shed himself of the sheet and, wrapping the skull in its folds, hid it from view among some lumber that lay along the wall of the passage.
There was still no sound from the room. He knew that it would be fruitless to appear the same evening. Whatever he said would be lost. He waited a few moments, however, expecting the hysteria to find a voice, but at length began his return journey. As he turned the corner of a distant passageway, he suddenly stopped dead. It had begun. Dulled as it was by the distance and the closed doors, it was yet horrifying enough – the remote, flat, endless screaming of naked panic.
When, on the evening of the next day, he visited them he found them in bed. The old woman who smelt so badly had brought them their meals. They lay close together and were obviously very ill. They were so white that it was difficult to tell where their faces ended and the long pillow began.
The room was brightly lit. Steerpike was glad to notice this. He remembered that, as ‘Death’, he had mentioned his preference for ‘strangling in a darkened room’. The strong lights indicated that the twins were able to remember at least a part of what he had said that night.
But even now he was taking no chances.
‘Your Ladyships,’ he said, ‘you look seedy. Very seedy. But believe me, you don’t look as bad as I feel. I have come for your advice and perhaps for your help, I must tell you. Be prepared.’ He coughed. ‘I have had a visitor. A visitor from Beyond. Do not be startled, ladies. But his name was Death. He came to me and he said: “Their Ladyships have done foul murder. I shall go to them now and squeeze the breath from their old bodies.” But I said: “No! hold back, I pray you. For they have promised never to divulge a word.” And Death said: “How can I be sure? How can I have proof?” I answered: “I am your witness. If their Ladyships so much as mention the word FIRE or STEERPIKE, you shall take them with you under wormy ground.”’
Cora and Clarice were trying to speak, but they were very weak. At last Cora said:
‘He … came … here … too. He’s still here. Oh, save us!’
‘He came here!’ said Steerpike, jumping to his feet. ‘Death came here, too?’
‘Yes.’
‘How strange that you are still alive! Did he give you orders?’
‘Yes,’ said Clarice.
‘And you remember them all?’
‘Yes … yes!’ said Cora, fingering her throat. ‘We can remember everything. Oh, save us.’
‘It is for you to save yourselves with silence. You wish to live?’
They nodded pathetically.
‘Then never a word.’
‘Never a word,’ echoed Clarice in the hush of the bright room.
Steerpike bowed and retired, and returned by an alternative staircase flanked by a long, steep curve of banister, down which he slid at high speed, landing nimbly at the foot of the stairs with a kind of pounce.
He had commandeered a fresh suite of rooms whose windows gave upon the cedar lawns. It was more in keeping with the position which his present duties commanded.
Glancing along the corridor before he entered his apartments, he could see in the distance – too far for the sound of their footsteps – the figures of Fuchsia and the Doctor.
He entered his room. The window was a smoke-blue rectangle, interceded by black branches. He lit a lamp. The walls flared, and the window became black. The branches had disappeared. He drew the blinds. He kicked off his shoes and, springing on the bed, twisted himself onto his back and, for a moment, discarded his dignity and became, at least physically, a little more in keeping with his seventeen years; for he wriggled, arched his spine and stretched out his arms and legs with a terrible glee. Then he began to laugh and laugh, the tears pouring from his dark-red eyes until, utterly exhausted and helpless, he fell back upon the pillows and slept, his thin lips twisted.
An hour earlier, Fuchsia had met the Doctor at their rendezvous, the