[Gormenghast] "Like a Drowned Rat" (PG)
Jun. 11th, 2011 11:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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comment_fic's "Author's choice, any (+ or / any), "Caught between fire and flood, he ran back and forth, uncertain of whether to burn or drown." " Works for either the books or the mini-series.
In one room on the third floor of the north wing, the top of a wardrobe, it's sides and doors swollen with water, afforded Steerpike a place on which to perch and rest, like a rain-bedraggled raven. The night closing in turned the storm-darkened room as black as the inside of a coal sack. Exhaustion set in and he dragged himself as far to the rear as he could go, to avoid falling into the floodwaters that half-filled the room, should he turn over in his sleep.
His eyes hardly seemed to drop shut when voices boomed nearby and he smelled the scent of the smoke from a torch burning nearby. His instinct was to shift further back till his body pressed against the wall, but he could not risk his movement being detected, and he lay still as a dead tree.
"No sign of the rat here," a voice that might belong to a guard said close by.
"That don't mean he *ain't* here," a gruff voice like a rusted saw replied. The torchlight bobbed, then started to grow brighter. Acrid woodsmoke clotted in the humid air and he had to cover his mouth to keep from choking and giving away his post.
"Here, her ladyship won't approve o' that!" the first guard cried.
"One way t' make a rat flee and show hisself: ye burn t' nest," the rough-voiced guard retorted.
Steerpike shifted his head, then taking care not to show himself, he peered about the room. The cornice of a doorway opposite had started to burn, set alight by the rough-voiced guard whose appearance matched his voice. The flames had started to spread along a moulding that ran the length of the ceiling, perilously close to Steerpike's perch. The fear of fire that he had developed after the death of Barquentine paralyzed him while it compelled him to flee.
"Would you burn the whole castle to flush him out?" the first guard snapped.
"Oi! What did you maggots do?" a commanding voice boomed from the hallway. He heard the guards splosh their way out of the room.
"Tryin' t' smoke out a rat," the rough-voiced guard replied. With the guards diverted, Steerpike took his chance and slipped off the wardrobe into the water, hiding in the angle formed by the wardrobe and the wal, his nose just above the water. He stayed there till the ripples cast by the guards stopped flowing. Once the way had cleared, he struck out for drier parts of the castle...
comment_fic's "Author's choice, any (+ or / any), "Caught between fire and flood, he ran back and forth, uncertain of whether to burn or drown." " Works for either the books or the mini-series.In one room on the third floor of the north wing, the top of a wardrobe, it's sides and doors swollen with water, afforded Steerpike a place on which to perch and rest, like a rain-bedraggled raven. The night closing in turned the storm-darkened room as black as the inside of a coal sack. Exhaustion set in and he dragged himself as far to the rear as he could go, to avoid falling into the floodwaters that half-filled the room, should he turn over in his sleep.
His eyes hardly seemed to drop shut when voices boomed nearby and he smelled the scent of the smoke from a torch burning nearby. His instinct was to shift further back till his body pressed against the wall, but he could not risk his movement being detected, and he lay still as a dead tree.
"No sign of the rat here," a voice that might belong to a guard said close by.
"That don't mean he *ain't* here," a gruff voice like a rusted saw replied. The torchlight bobbed, then started to grow brighter. Acrid woodsmoke clotted in the humid air and he had to cover his mouth to keep from choking and giving away his post.
"Here, her ladyship won't approve o' that!" the first guard cried.
"One way t' make a rat flee and show hisself: ye burn t' nest," the rough-voiced guard retorted.
Steerpike shifted his head, then taking care not to show himself, he peered about the room. The cornice of a doorway opposite had started to burn, set alight by the rough-voiced guard whose appearance matched his voice. The flames had started to spread along a moulding that ran the length of the ceiling, perilously close to Steerpike's perch. The fear of fire that he had developed after the death of Barquentine paralyzed him while it compelled him to flee.
"Would you burn the whole castle to flush him out?" the first guard snapped.
"Oi! What did you maggots do?" a commanding voice boomed from the hallway. He heard the guards splosh their way out of the room.
"Tryin' t' smoke out a rat," the rough-voiced guard replied. With the guards diverted, Steerpike took his chance and slipped off the wardrobe into the water, hiding in the angle formed by the wardrobe and the wal, his nose just above the water. He stayed there till the ripples cast by the guards stopped flowing. Once the way had cleared, he struck out for drier parts of the castle...
