THE BITTERBYNDE TRILOGY

Book One: The Ill-Made Mute

(c) Cecilia Dart-Thornton.

the fringed border of the tapestry.  The aristocrat and the visiting merchant had indeed vacated the corridor. Instantly the lad darted from his haven and hurtled down the stairs.

But he was not to be so easily re-oriented. Frantically, he searched through the lower level for some passageway or gallery he knew.  He felt certain the first person he met would re-direct him to Floor Five as un-gently as possible, but he preferred to try finding his own way - which is why, when he heard an approaching voice for the second time, he concealed himself once more. This time he slid into a dim niche in the wall, between two stone ribs supporting arched vaults.

The figure which wandered into view was that of Mad Mullet, the compost-hauler.  His job was to carry vegetable scraps from the kitchens down to the ground. There he blended them with animal dung to form a scrumptious medley for the use of the kitchen-gardeners.

His approach was usually heralded by his odour, and by the curious rambling monologue he voiced wherever he went - a monologue which was barely intelligible at the best of times.  As he ranted, he drooled.  He was, as his nickname suggested, mad.  However, being proud of bearing and regular of feature he was quite comely to look at, and thus rated higher in the servant's hierarchy than the deformed lad - not that Mad Mullet cared one whit.

Orating, chanting, singing in a queer high-pitched tone, Mad Mullet passed quite close by the place where the lad crouched, endeavouring to resemble a grotesque carving decorating the wall. The lad noted that the eyes of Mad Mullet appeared unfocussed, blank, as if fixed on some distant object which none but lunatics could discern.

On tip-toe, the lad followed him.

Mad Mullet was sometimes wont to frequent the furnace levels. He might lead the way back to Floor Five.
Through the worm-ways went the two, and Mad Mullet never looked back, nor did his step falter.  He led the way, but not where the lad had hoped. Without warning, a gust of pure, cold air buffeted the two.  Light broke on them like a blue crystal, and they emerged upon a stone-flagged balcony as vast and sheer as the floor of the ballroom.

For the first time, the lad was Outside.

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