by Dermot Mccabe

Created on: November 25, 2008

The Dredgemarsh Codex

Chapter 1

Deep down in the bowels of Dredgemarsh, Verm Bludvile could walk blind-folded through the endless maze of underground corridors and tunnels. The Great Hall of Echoes was the centre of this bleak underworld. Every utterance, every closing and opening of distant doors and every crack and creak of disintegrating stone and mortar in his underground labyrinth tumbled and splintered into shards of noise, that endlessly flowed into the Great Hall to mingle in an ocean of whispering sounds.

It was rare for anyone to descend to Verm's dark sea of echoes, except on those odd occasions when an ancient ritual or ceremony entailed a visit of dignitaries or members of the royal household. These rare events had become even more infrequent over the past five years, since Cesare Greyfell, the brilliant but reclusive son of Philip II had reluctantly abandoned his studies at the monastery of Anselem to accede to the throne of his dead father. This neglect of the old rituals did not worry Verm in the slightest. All he cared about was lighting the candles; that was his one function in life; that's what he wasthe candle lighter. The gradual cessation of visits suited him. He could not remember why, but he hated "them above". It was in his blood, some old long forgotten grievance or dreadful wrong done to him.

'Degenerates and fornicators,' his father, old Wat Bludvile, used to fulminate at the mention of the royal household and its staff, never explaining, even on his deathbed, the reason for his obsessive hatred. He had also been the candle lighter. Verm knew nothing of his mother but in his grim world of flickering candle light the only kindness he had ever experienced was from old Watt. Now the passing years had almost extinguished that vague memory of affection and left in its place an emptiness that, on occasions, even the hard armour of bitterness could not repel. But as long as he had his candles to light, the squalor and pointlessness of Verm Bludvile's existence could be endured.

Every four days he set out with a supply of candles from the storeroom below the Great Hall, hauling them in a tall shambling contraption that bore some resemblance to a barrow. This barrow had small iron wheels that continually stuck in the ruts and cracks of the cobbled floors and the noise as he hauled it through the flickering shadows was excruciating. But Verm seemed not to be affected by it. He was not deaf; in fact his senses of hearing and smell were acute beyond

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