The title and parts of the story itself were inspired by Francis Cabrel's song La Cabane Du Pêcheur, and there's a fairly blatant reference to Queen's music video for It's A Hard Life in there too.
I haven't returned to prose since this attempt – and it's been five years now, as of the time of writing – but I still think it's quite nice. Hopefully it reads well, and I didn't misrepresent the Gormenghast characters too badly.
THE FISHERMAN'S CABIN
'I am Fuschia. I must always be.'
Her last thought as she gazed down on the raging floodwaters below. It was all she knew. All she had left to know in the world. Hope had gone, love had never existed, and she could not dream forever. In her mind, she saw the whole of the castle in all its monstruous splendour rise up and crash down upon her like a great wave, Gormenghast and the entirety of her life reduced to dust of uncertainty that blinded and choked her. Leaving her alone. Alone with that one thought that was all she had time left to think. For as soon as it passed into her head – a sharp, sudden noise – a sharp, sudden breath – a sharp, sudden pain and then a freezing abyss. She was Fuchsia. She must always be.
The sun? How long had it been since she had seen it? She could not say. But now she felt it on her face, warming her slim body through the thin material clinging to her. The warmth was dragging her out of a dream, the deepest of deep dreams that she had ever had. "Steerpike...?", she murmured. And suddenly sat bolt upright. She was on a riverbank. The flood, her balcony, her chamber, the castle itself – all had evaporated like the steam rising from her skin. The shock of it made her cry out. "No! Not that. Not him. I loved him. I loved him. But he was horrible...oh Nannie. I'm sorry. I can't – I'm so sorry!"
And so they came again, those tears of a squandered lifetime. The tears that no being as beautiful and innocent as she should ever have had to cry. If only she had had a true protector, that person would have sought out the bitter man who had done this to her life, and forced him to alter his deeds. But that could not happen. All the people she had ever loved had been undeserving of it. And now everything had gone. "Titus!", she gasped. "Where are you? I'm sorry..." Frantically she scrabbled up the bank and collapsed in a bundle of exquisite and unimaginable misery, chest heaving and tears glistening in the sunlight.
"If you cry for a boy, you won't be the last."
She turned round, startled. There had been no-one there before! But now there was a tall, quietly handsome man watching her as she wept. "Who are you?", she whispered in breathless surprise. "The Fisherman. I'm here to help you on your way, but it must be quick. There is a limited time available to us." She stared mournfully, uncomprehendingly at him. "I – I don't understand. Where am I? I –"
"You are the Lady Fuchsia. I know. Do not ask me how I know, there is no time. That I know is enough. As for where you are: a realm of dreams, my Lady, of colour, light, and shade. You yourself have come from a very dark place, where many wrongs were done to you because no-one understood your beauty. I can help you turn away from that and move into a place of joy. But first you must come into the cabin." He stood aside to reveal an equally sudden little fishing hut. And though she was the daughter of an Earl, she knew she had no choice.
"I am not dead. I'm here, talking to you now! Why are you doing this? Why can't I go back?" He bowed his head before her questions. Then, lifting his eyes:
"A man passed by here once, several years ago. He had been at a grand ball with many rich costumes and fancy guests, when all of a sudden he turned to find they had all vanished, and through a terrible mist he saw only the Angel of Death at the top of the staircase, saluting him. He was powerless to resist, like you. Like you he had not seen it coming; like you he did not believe he could be here; like you he was journeying from one place to the next. Remember, it's a hard life in that sorrowful world you have left. We are all no more than characters falling off a page. All of us. Your first book has been closed forever, but you can open a new chapter in – forgive me, I have said so before – a better place." She regarded him with a wild and strange hope in her eyes, a hope that had seemed lost many years before.
"But I want only one thing", she found herself whispering. "In...in that place. Will there be – love?"
And she immediately hated herself for being so selfish. Had she not already been loved by many people? Her parents? Titus? Doctor Prunesquallor? Nannie Slagg? And surely she had been loved by that one. Her kitchen-boy. Her Master of the Ritual. Her only hope of freedom and her clown – she must never forget her clown. But again the Fisherman broke in upon her regretful musings.
"None of them, my Lady, none of those that you remember now loved you as well as they should! Your father was all too inclined to forget you in favour of his high office; he only showed his love once he had lost his truly beloved books. Your mother cursed you as ugly and usually refused to acknowledge your needs. Titus, it is true, loved you dearly, but his distractions away from home distracted him from you too. Your doctor and your nanny listened to you, but only when it suited them – the rest of the time they fed you potions to stop you from dreaming your precious dreams and adventures, which to them were an embarrassment. As for Steerpike – a traitor, Lady Fuchsia. A traitor to your castle and your family, whose attitude to you was the darkest treachery of all. Every one of these people was a victim in their own way, but you were the one who suffered most in the end."
She was still in a state of bewildered wonderment, but at once she knew the man's words to be immaculately true. "But why me?", she sighed. "Did I do something wrong?"
"You did nothing wrong at all. Your entire life was conducted as well as it could have been under the circumstances, and conducted by you alone. Some might have told you a higher power watched over you – that is utter nonsense. Others may have exerted influence, yes. But they were living, breathing souls, like you." She flinched at the 'were'. He noticed it.
"I see you're frightened. That is natural. Perhaps you don't even believe that you truly have left the first world. But you will come to accept it soon, when things are better."
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