D Cornish - The Lamplighter

As he walked by the curricle, Rossamund watched a company of haubardiers working through drills under the shadow of the eastern wall, standing and moving in well-practiced order. He could not see the other lantern-sticks; they would be at readings now, suffering dire boredom in the Lectury with Mister Humbert. A post-lentum came through the gates, overtook them and rattled on to the covered stables to the right of the main building. The postilion blew his long horn to herald their arrival. The post is here! The post is here! its call declared.

Rossamund felt an instinctive thrill, the sweet anticipation of a letter from a loved one-from Verline perhaps (it had been a whole month since her first missive), or Fransitart… or maybe even one from Europe.

It was obvious the arrival of the calendars was expected, for a welcome of officials turned out in their finest threads emerged from the manse. As Clement took the curricle through to halt before the front doors, the women were greeted first by Podious Whympre, the Master-of-Clerks. An officious man who smiled too much, he was dressed in sumptuous Imperial scarlet. He had only that year become acting second-in-command of Winstermill, and with the promotion his influence had grown. Joining him, and accompanied by all their particular secretaries, were other senior martial-bureaucrats: the Quartermaster, the niggardly Compter-of-Stores, the rotund General-Master-of-Labors and his Surveyor-of-the-Works, and a scowling General-Master-of-Palliateers. Even the rarely seen Captain-of-Thaumateers was in attendance. A small file of clerks-the chief of which was Witherscrawl-followed, along with a guard of troubardier pediteers in their bright lour-covered, proof-steel loricas and soft square pagrinine hats. Rather than their usual poleaxes, the pediteers bore high umbrellas to provide a roof against the steady drizzle.

Yet one among them refused to dress the dandy. A skulking fellow in a midnight-dark soutaine, he hovered at the Master-of-Clerks' back and stared viperlike with ill-colored eyes of red orb and pale blue iris. This was Laudibus Pile, leer and faithful falseman to Podious Whympre. He could often be seen whispering at the Master-of-Clerks' ear, a telltale saying what was truth and what was lie. To Rossamund he was a false-seeming falseman, and he was glad he had little to do with this fellow or his master.

The one person missing was the Lamplighter-Marshal.

"Lady Threnody, you honor us at last." The Master-of-Clerks bowed, a perfect study of civility. "And Lady Dolours. We are met again. It has been almost a year since you helped us against those brutish ashmongers in the Owlgrave."

Dolours gave the man a tired, knowing look.

"And what relief it was," the Master-of-Clerks continued without pause, spreading his arms to include the various lampsmen in attendance, "to receive report that our tireless lighters did rescue you this yesternight gone. How happy it is you have both arrived sound and intact."

The bane had been looking most poorly but now she presented a hale front. "Clerk-Master Podious Whympre," she said with a subtle frown at the falseman Laudibus a-whisper-whisper behind the man, "a delight." She paused. "For the good deeds done last night I am grateful. Your Marshal is not present, I see. Matters more pressing keep him from us?"

Even Rossamund knew that the absence of the Lamplighter-Marshal was a great affront. Of all the officers of Winstermill, the Lamplighter-Marshal was not only the most senior, but also had the reputation as the most punctual and gentlemanly.

"Ah, ever-astute Lady Bane, you do your clave proud. The Lamplighter-Marshal, I am certain, would give sincere apology for his nonattendance were we able to find him." Though the Master-of-Clerks' face was apologetic, his eyes were bright.

Dolours stepped past and went to push through the gaggle of officers and clerks. "It is well, for proper meetings must sadly wait; our sister Pandome is deadly hurt. I hear your physic Crispus is of fair repute. Would you consent to his immediately attending to her wounds?"

The Master-of-Clerks was obliged to step quickly, moving from the precious cover of his troubardier-held umbrella and leaving his falseman behind. "Indeed, madam, Doctor Crispus is a man of many parts," he said, his smile broadening almost to a sneer as a troubardier hurried to cover him with a high parasol. "Alas, however, he is gone away to Red Scarfe to tend a disturbing outbreak of the fugous cankers. Ah, but all is not a loss! Grotius Swill, our surgeon and the physician's locum, remains with us. He will serve, I'm sure."

The calendars looked less than pleased.

"Whatever you might provide," Dolours said wearily.

Even as the bureaucrats dispersed, the Lamplighter-Marshal, the Earl of the Baton Imperial of Fayelillian himself, hastened from the doors of the manse. He was a grand-looking old man with long white mustachios, although unfashionable; he wore no wig, rather his own hair kept short as a true lighter's. His mottle-and-harness were simple-quabard over platoon-coat-worn easy and naturally. In a way he looked just like an ordinary lampsman, the most physically capable, shrewd and dangerous ordinary lampsman you might ever meet.Yet there was a barely perceptible atmosphere of weariness about him, a sense of harassment and overwork. He acknowledged the calendars warmly enough, saying through a rueful smile, "My most sincere apologies to ye, dear, dear Lady Dolours; what a bumbling scrub I must seem. It is unforgivable that I was not here in the first to meet ye." Mustachios a-bristle, the Marshal flashed a look of veiled wrath at Podious Whympre. "I would have been more timely, but found myself needlessly summoned to the farthest end of the manse. I have only now been told of yer arrival."

Nodding an obsequious bow, the Master-of-Clerks tut-tutted. "Those new clerks are quite useless. Unacceptable, sir, unacceptable. They shall be most particularly reprimanded."

There was a small silence.

The Lamplighter-Marshal offered his hand to Dolours. "It's clear ye're unwell, m'dear. Let's withdraw to the quiet of my duty room. I hope its comforts will make amends. How is yer bonny august, the Lady Vey? She sends communication?"

The two turned their backs on the Master-of-Clerks and, without a further word to him, went inside. With a pointed show of proper manners, Podious Whympre bowed to their retreating backs.

As the bureaucrats dispersed, two porters were summoned to carry Pandome to the manse's infirmary. Rossamund had never-thank the Signal Stars! — been required to attend an appointment with the surgeon. Brought by especial request of the Master-of-Clerks, Grotius Swill, according to the common-mess rumor, held staunchly to the surgeon's creed of amputating first and investigating later; of fossicking about far too much in people's innards rather than administering the tried and proved chemical cures of dispensurist or physician. How did the rhyme go? Honorius Ludius Grotius Swill Saws off your limbs, but eschews the pill; For a cough he removes fingers, a sneeze he'll take toes, And fevers will cost you your ears and your nose.

Rossamund shuddered-he would never allow someone to dig about inside him, and could not understand why lahzars and the like would pay to submit themselves to such abominable treatment.

With Threnody walking alongside her injured sister, he led the way through the empty vestibule down the Forward Hall and left through the right angles and long passages that led to the infirmary. They moved through the domain of the bureaucracy of Winstermill, a place that had a reputation as a strange and uncomfortable place for those not of the clerical set, even for experienced lighters. They passed white wooden doors from which would sporadically emerge a secretary, clerk or servant.These would pass in turn with a muttered apology or impatient sneer, to disappear in another white port along the way. Going deeper into the manse, the smoky perfume of the dark, venerable wood of furniture, beam and wainscot soaked the atmosphere. It grew strongest as they entered a large passage known as the Broad Hall. Several doors went at intervals down either side, the spandarions of the local city-states mounted between. The first door on the left was painted a pale lime green.