‘Yes,’ said Fuchsia. ‘He is very ill. I’ve been to see him.’
‘You haven’t!’ said Titus.
‘I certainly have and I shall go again. His burns are terrible.’
‘I don’t want you to see him,’ said Titus.
‘Why not?’ the blood was beginning to mount to her cheeks.
‘Because he’s …’
But Fuchsia interrupted him.
‘What … do … you … know … about … him?’ she said very softly and slowly, but with a shake in her voice – ‘Is it a crime for him to be more brilliant than we could ever be? Is it his fault that he is disfigured?’ And then in a rush – ‘or that he’s so brave?’
She turned her eyes to her brother and seeing there, in his features something infinitely close to her, something that seemed to be a reflection of her own heart, or as though she was looking into her own eyes –
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but don’t let’s talk about him.’
But this is just what Flay wanted to do. ‘Ladyship,’ he said. ‘Barquentine’s son – does he understand – has he been trained – Warden of the Documents – Keeper of the Groan law – is all well?’
‘No one can find his son, or whether he ever had a son,’ said Fuchsia. ‘But all is well. For several years now Barquentine has been training Steerpike.’
Flay rose suddenly to his feet as though some invisible cord had plucked at him from above, and as he rose he turned his head to hide his anger.
‘No! No!’ he cried to himself, but there was no sound. Then he spoke over his shoulder.
‘But Steerpike is ill, ladyship?’
Fuchsia stared up at him. Neither she nor Titus could understand why he had suddenly got to his feet.
‘Yes,’ said Fuchsia. ‘He was burned when he tried to save Barquentine who was on fire – and he’s been in bed for months.’
‘How much longer, ladyship?’
‘The doctor says he can get up in a week.’
‘But the Ritual! The instructions; who has given them? Who has directed the Procedure – day by day – interpreted the Documents – O God!’ said Flay, suddenly unable to control himself any longer. ‘Who has made the symbols come to life? Who has turned the wheels of Gormenghast?’
‘It is all right, Mr Flay. It’s all right. He does not spare himself. He was not trained for nothing. He is covered in bandages but he directs everything. And all from his sickbed. Every morning. Thirty or forty men are there at a time. He interviews them all. Hundreds of books are at his side – and the walls are covered with maps and diagrams. There is no one else who can do it. He is working all the time, while he lies there. He is working with his brain.’
But Flay struck his hand against the wall of the cave as though to let out his anger.
‘No! No!’ he said. ‘He’s no Master of Ritual, ladyship, not for always. No love, ladyship, no love for Gormenghast.’
‘I wish there wasn’t any Master of Ritual,’ said Titus.
‘Lordship,’ said Flay after a pause, ‘you are only a boy. No knowledge. But you will learn from Gormenghast. Sourdust and Barquentine, both burned up,’ he continued, hardly knowing that he spoke aloud … ‘father and son … father and son …’
‘Maybe I’m only a boy,’ said Titus hotly, ‘but if you know how we’ve come here today, by the secret passage under the ground (which I found by myself, didn’t I, Fuchsia?) then …’ but Titus had to stop for the sentence was too involved for him.
‘But do you know,’ he continued, starting afresh, ‘we’ve been in the dark, with candles, sometimes crawling but mostly walking all the way from the castle, except for the last mile where the tunnel comes out, only you’d never know it, under a bank, like the mouth of a badger’s set – not too far from here on the other side of the wood where you first saw us, so it was difficult to find your cave, Mr Flay, because last time I came was mostly on horseback and then through the oakwood – and, O Mr Flay, was it a dream or did I really see a flying thing and did I tell you about it? I sometimes think it was a dream.’
‘So it was,’ said Flay. ‘Nightmare; and no doubt of it.’ He seemed to have no desire to talk to Titus about the ‘flying thing’.
‘Secret tunnel to the castle, lordship?’
‘Yes,’ said Titus, ‘secret and black and smelling of earth and sometimes there are beams of wood to keep the roof up and ants everywhere.’
Flay turned his eyes to Fuchsia as though for confirmation.
‘It’s true,’ said Fuchsia.
‘And close by, ladyship?’
‘Yes,’ said Fuchsia. ‘In the woods across the near valley. That’s where the tunnel comes out.’
Flay stared at them both in turn. The news of the underground passage seemed to have had a great effect on him, although they could not think why – for although to them it had been a very real and forbidding adventure, yet from bitter experience they knew that what was wonderful to them was usually of little interest to the adult world.
But Mr Flay was hungry for every detail.
