The Illustrated Gormenghast Trilogy

And wriggle their fins of fur,

They fly and fly ’neath the lilac sky –

The frivolous cake, and the knife

Who winketh his glamorous indigo eye

In the wake of his future wife.

The crumbs blow free down the pointless sea

To the beat of a cakey heart

And the sensitive steel of the knife can feel

That love is a race apart.

In the speed of the lingering light are blown

The crumbs to the hake above,

And the tropical air vibrates to the drone

Of a cake in the throes of love.

She ended the final verse with a rush, taking in nothing at all of its meaning. As she ended the last line mechanically, she found herself getting to her feet and making for the door. Her bundle was left behind, open, but, save for the pear, untouched on the table. She found herself on the balcony and lowering herself down the ladder was in the empty attic and within a few moments had reached the head of the stairs in the lumber room. As she descended the spiral staircase her thoughts were turning over and over.

‘What have they done? What have they done?’ And it was in a precipitous mood that she entered her room and ran to the corner where, catching hold of the pigtail bell-rope she pulled it as though to wrench it from the ceiling.

Within a few moments Mrs Slagg came running up to the door, her slippered feet scraping along unevenly on the floorboards. Fuchsia opened the door to her and as soon as the poor old head appeared around the panels, she shouted at it, ‘What’s happening Nannie, what’s happening down there? Tell me at once, Nannie, or I won’t love you. Tell me, tell me.’

‘Quiet, my caution, quiet,’ said Mrs Slagg. ‘What’s all the bother, my conscience! oh my poor heart. You’ll be the death of me.’

‘You must tell me, Nannie. Now! now! or I’ll hit you,’ said Fuchsia.

From so small a beginning of suspicion Fuchsia’s fears had grown until now, convinced by a mounting intuition, she was almost on the point of striking her old nurse, whom she loved so desperately. Nannie Slagg took hold of Fuchsia’s hand between eight old fingers and squeezed it.

‘A little brother for you, my pretty. Now there’s a surprise to quieten you; a little brother. Just like you, my ugly darling – born in the lapsury.’

‘No!’ shouted Fuchsia, the blood rushing to her cheek. ‘No! no! I won’t have it. Oh no, no, no! I won’t! I won’t! It mustn’t be, it mustn’t be!’ And Fuchsia flinging herself to the floor burst into a passion of tears.

‘MRS SLAGG BY MOONLIGHT’

These then, Lord Sepulchrave, the Countess Gertrude, Fuchsia their eldest child, Doctor Prunesquallor, Mr Rottcodd, Flay, Swelter, Nannie Slagg, Steerpike and Sourdust, have been discovered at their pursuits on the day of the advent, and have perhaps indicated the atmosphere into which it was the lot of Titus to be born.

For his first few years of life, Titus was to be left to the care of Nannie Slagg, who bore this prodigious responsibility proudly upon her thin little sloping shoulders. During the first half of this early period only two major ceremonies befell the child and of these Titus was happily unaware, namely the christening, which took place twelve days after his birth, and a ceremonial breakfast on his first birthday. Needless to say, to Mrs Slagg, every day presented a series of major happenings, so entirely was she involved in the practicalities of his upbringing.

She made her way along the narrow stone path between the acacia trees on this memorable nativity evening and downhill to the gate in the castle wall which led into the heart of the mud dwellings. As she hurried along, the sun was setting behind Gormenghast Mountain in a swamp of saffron light and her shadow hurried alongside between the acacia trees. It was seldom that she ventured out of doors and it was with quite a flutter that she had opened with difficulty the heavy lid of a chest in her room and extricated, from beneath a knoll of camphor, her best hat. It was very black indeed, but by way of relief it had upon its high crown a brittle bunch of glass grapes. Four or five of them had been broken but this was not very noticeable.

Nannie Slagg had lifted the hat up to her shoulder level and peered at it obliquely before puffing at the glass grapes to remove any possible dust. Seeing that she had dulled them with her breath she lifted up her petticoat and doubling up over her hat she gave a quick little polish to each fruit in turn.