The Illustrated Gormenghast Trilogy

She did not answer. She only saw his strength and his high cheekbones and fiery eyes. She only saw his youth.

‘I am the cause,’ she said. ‘It is I who should die. And I will die,’ she said quickly. ‘Before very long – but now, now what is it? I cannot enter into fear or hate, or even agony and death. Forgive me, forgive me.’

She turned and held his hand with the dagger in it.

‘I do not know. I do not understand,’ she said, ‘I do not think that we have any power.’

She released his hand and he moved away along the base of the high wall until it curved to the right and she lost him.

Braigon was already gone. Her eyes clouded.

‘Keda,’ she said to herself, ‘Keda, this is tragedy.’ But as her words hung emptily in the morning air, she clenched her hands for she could feel no anguish and the bright bird that had filled her breast was still singing … was still singing.

THE ROOM OF ROOTS

‘That’s quite enough for today,’ said Lady Cora, laying down her embroidery on a table beside her chair.

‘But you’ve only sewn three stitches, Cora,’ said Lady Clarice, drawing out a thread to arm’s length.

Cora turned her eyes suspiciously. ‘You have been watching me,’ she said. ‘Haven’t you?’

‘It wasn’t private,’ replied her sister. ‘Sewing isn’t private.’ She tossed her head.

Cora was not convinced and sat rubbing her knees together, sullenly.

‘And now I’ve finished as well,’ said Clarice, breaking the silence. ‘Half a petal, and quite enough, too, for a day like this. Is it tea time?’

‘Why do you always want to know the time?’ said Cora, “Is it breakfast time, Cora?” … “Is it dinner time, Cora?” … “Is it tea time, Cora?” – on and on and on. You know that it doesn’t make any difference what the time is.’

‘It does if you’re hungry,’ said Clarice.

‘No, it doesn’t. Nothing matters very much; even if you’re hungry.’

‘Yes, it does,’ her sister contested, ‘I know it does.’

‘Clarice Groan,’ said Cora sternly, rising from her chair, ‘you know too much.’

Clarice did not answer, but bit her thin, loose lower lip.

‘We usually go on much longer with our sewing, don’t we, Cora?’ she said at last. ‘We sometimes go on for hours and hours, and we nearly always talk a lot, but we haven’t today, have we, Cora?’

‘No,’ said Cora.

‘Why haven’t we?’

‘I don’t know. Because we haven’t needed to, I suppose, you silly thing.’

Clarice got up from her chair and smoothed her purple satin, and then looked archly at her sister. ‘I know why we haven’t been talking,’ she said.

‘Oh no, you don’t.’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Clarice. ‘I know.’

Cora sniffed, and after walking to a long mirror in the wall with a swishing of her skirts, she readjusted a pin in her hair. When she felt she had been silent long enough:

‘Oh no, you don’t,’ she said, and peered at her sister in the mirror over the reflection of her own shoulder. Had she not had forty-nine years in which to get accustomed to the phenomenon she must surely have been frightened to behold in the glass, next to her own face, another, smaller, it is true, for her sister was some distance behind her, but of such startling similarity.

She saw her sister’s mouth opening in the mirror.

‘I do,’ came the voice from behind her, ‘because I know what you’ve been thinking. It’s easy.’

‘You think you do,’ said Cora, ‘but I know you don’t, because I know exactly what you’ve been thinking all day that I’ve been thinking and that’s why.’

The logic of this answer made no lasting impression upon Clarice, for although it silenced her for a moment she continued: ‘Shall I tell you what you’ve been brooding on?’ she asked.

‘You can if you like, I suppose. I don’t mind. What, then? I might as well incline my ear. Go on.’

‘I don’t know that I want to now,’ said Clarice. ‘I think I’ll keep it to myself, although it’s obvious.’ Clarice gave great emphasis to this word ‘obvious’. ‘Isn’t it tea time yet? Shall I ring the bell, Cora? What a pity it’s too windy for the tree.’

‘You were thinking of that Steerpike boy,’ said Cora, who had sidled up to her sister and was staring at her from very close quarters. She felt she had rather turned the tables on poor Clarice by her sudden renewal of the subject.

‘So were you,’ said Clarice. ‘I knew that long ago. Didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I did,’ said Cora. ‘Very long ago. Now we both know.’