The Illustrated Gormenghast Trilogy - Mervyn Peake [470]
‘Is the leader of the Heavy Rescue here?’
‘Yes, your ladyship.’ A tired and bearded figure came forward.
‘Rest your men.’
‘Yes, your ladyship. They need it.’
‘We all need it. What of it? The waters are rising. You have your list of priorities?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have the leaders of every section made their working copies?’
‘They have.’
‘In six hours’ time the flood will be at our feet. In two hours’ time all hands are to be woken. There is no possibility of the night being spent on this level. The Chequered Stairway is the widest. You have my order of priority; livestock, carcasses, corn; and so on, have you not?’
‘Certainly, your ladyship.’
‘Are the cats comfortable?’
‘They have the run of the twelve blue attics.’
‘Ah … and then …’ her voice tailed away.
‘Your ladyship?’
‘… And then, gentlemen, we shall begin. The mounting water draws us all together. Is that so, gentlemen?’
They bowed their perplexed assent.
‘With every hour less rooms are tenable. We are driven up, are we not, into a confine. Tell me, gentlemen, can traitors live in air and feed on it? Can they chew the cloud? Or swallow the thunder or fill their bellies with lightning?’
The gentlemen shook their heads and eyed one another.
‘Or can they live beneath the surface of the water like the pike I see below me in the darkness? No. He is like us, gentlemen. Are the sentries posted as usual? Is the kitchen guarded?’
‘It is, your ladyship.’
‘Enough! We are squandering the time. Give orders that there are two hours’ sleep. You will leave me.’
She got to her feet as her audience retired to propagate her instructions and leaned over the heavy balustrade that surrounded the stairhead. The water had risen half the height of a tread since she had heard of the Carvers’ boats. She leaned there, like something over life size, her heavy arms folded on the balustrade, a lock of her dark red hair hanging over her wide, pale brow as she stared over and down to where the black water brooded in the well of the stairs.
SEVENTY
When the Countess had heard of Titus’ return to the castle, she had summoned him at once and had heard from him of how the heat had overpowered him, and of how he had lost his memory and, after he knew not how long a time, had found himself alone on the outskirts of Gormenghast forest.
As Titus had recounted these falsehoods she had stared at him but made no comment, save, after a long pause, to ask him, whether on his return he had seen Fuchsia.
‘I say on your return’ (she had added), ‘as on your outward journey you were in no state to recognize anyone. Is that so?’
‘Yes, mother.’
‘And did you see her, when you were returning, or after you returned?’
‘No.’
‘I will have your story circulated throughout the castle. Within an hour the Carvers will be informed of your loss of memory. Your oblivion was ill-timed. You may go now.’
SEVENTY-ONE
For little short of a fortnight the rain continued unabated; so great a proportion of the castle was now under water that in spite of the rain it was necessary for encampments to be formed upon the suitable roofs which were approached through attic hatchways. The congestion in the upper zones was appalling.
The first of the commandeered flotillas had been paddled across the deep water from the carvers’ promontory. On their return journey across the roofs and upper floors the carvers were permitted to take with them what loose timber they could carry.
The Countess had a broad and handsome craft. It was designed for oarsmen and had an ample space for her at the stern to sit and steer with comfort.
The carvers had been supplied with tar and great drums of paint, and this solid boat was decorated with devices of red, black and gold. Its bows rose out of the water with a slow and massive grace and terminated in a carved head that resembled a bird of prey, its throat of sculptured feathers