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Sep. 17th, 2007 09:11 pmOnce through the Door, Steerpike was unceremoniously dumped on the cold stone floor of the gaol. By staring at the door to his cell, he ascertained that...
...well. It wasn't going to open any time soon.
Back to the window it was then. The window, which even for Steerpike, was a bit of a snug fit. Once wedged into it however, he could see the sprawling vista of Gormenghast. The spires, towers and roofs that made up the vast castle. And he wondered, for a moment, who it all belonged to. Lord Groan couldn't possibly have all of it, could he? And maybe, just maybe, some of it could be his one day. He could have part of this panorama for his very own.
Suddenly Steerpike felt himself free-falling downwards, faster and faster. Lost in his thoughts, he had leaned a little too far and now he was plummeting to certain death! Catching hold of a great metal beam, he held on to it for dear life, trying desperately not to think too much about the huge drop he had spied beneath him. A dizzying drop, which once he scrambled on top of the metal beam, he shut his eyes tight from seeing.
This was a bad idea. This was a very bad idea. Maybe he should have stayed in the Kitchen.
...no. The Kitchen was worse than even this. He steeled himself. He could not go down. From his new vantage point, he could see that he was perched upon the great little hand of a clock and that the other was pointed upwards. There was no alternative then. He would have to climb the big hand and try to clamber on top of the clock. From there he might find a way to get higher. Or at least, catch his breath.
Once there, though, it seemed the only way was up, through the branches of some...great...bushy...thing. There was nothing for it. Steerpike launched himself into it and began climbing.
...well. It wasn't going to open any time soon.
Back to the window it was then. The window, which even for Steerpike, was a bit of a snug fit. Once wedged into it however, he could see the sprawling vista of Gormenghast. The spires, towers and roofs that made up the vast castle. And he wondered, for a moment, who it all belonged to. Lord Groan couldn't possibly have all of it, could he? And maybe, just maybe, some of it could be his one day. He could have part of this panorama for his very own.
Suddenly Steerpike felt himself free-falling downwards, faster and faster. Lost in his thoughts, he had leaned a little too far and now he was plummeting to certain death! Catching hold of a great metal beam, he held on to it for dear life, trying desperately not to think too much about the huge drop he had spied beneath him. A dizzying drop, which once he scrambled on top of the metal beam, he shut his eyes tight from seeing.
This was a bad idea. This was a very bad idea. Maybe he should have stayed in the Kitchen.
...no. The Kitchen was worse than even this. He steeled himself. He could not go down. From his new vantage point, he could see that he was perched upon the great little hand of a clock and that the other was pointed upwards. There was no alternative then. He would have to climb the big hand and try to clamber on top of the clock. From there he might find a way to get higher. Or at least, catch his breath.
Once there, though, it seemed the only way was up, through the branches of some...great...bushy...thing. There was nothing for it. Steerpike launched himself into it and began climbing.
