D Cornish - The Lamplighter

"Who would want such a terrible thing?" Rossamund asked indignantly.

"Maybe those who covet his popularity with the lamplighters and the people of the Idlewild, and his position as a peer," answered the leer. "Those who will happily destroy any good just so they can have it their way, without any thought to wisdom or right."

How could anyone be black-hearted enough to wish ill on such a great man? Rossamund reflected bitterly.

"But why do you have to go?" Numps interjected, frowning with intense, puzzled concentration.

"I go because the Marshal needs me." Sebastipole became kinder. "I must see through all the lies and traps of cunning men for him. While I am gone you must be careful, do you follow me, Numption?" The leer bent his neck sideways to look Numps in the eye. "If you are scared, hide with your hidden friends.Yes?"

The glimner nodded, his head dropping dejectedly. "Yes Mister 'Pole, if I'm scared I will hide, yes."

Standing, Sebastipole turned to Rossamund. "Watch out for my friend, Rossamund. Only you and Crispus show him any abiding kindness, and the doctor is a man daily beleaguered with too many tasks." Sebastipole gripped Rossamund firmly by his shoulder, startling him. "Will you do this?" the leer asked, uncommon anxiety clear in his queer-colored gaze.

"Aye, Mister Sebastipole," Rossamund said seriously. "Aye, I most certainly will."

"Bravo! Good man! Now I must go. We have been given little time to satisfy the summons."

"You come back again, Mister 'Pole," Numps insisted.

"You know I have to go away at times. But I always return, do I not?" He fixed Numps with a firm look. "Do I not?"

Sniffing, Numps eventually, grudgingly, nodded.

"And I will write to you as I have before," the leer pressed, "and Doctor Crispus will still be here… and so will Rossamund."

At that Numps looked at the prentice and gave a pathetic smile.

Nodding, Rossamund grinned awkwardly in return.

Sebastipole sat with Numps for a little longer, then said, "And now, friend Numption, I must must go and you must trust me and Rossamund as your friend." Sebastipole stood.

"Yes, Mister 'Pole," Numps relented. "You are my for-always friend, and Rossamund is my new old friend. I will see you back here soon again, yes?"

"Yes, you shall-as soon as is possible. May well betide both of you," he said with feeling. "We shall meet again-I will make certain of it! Until then I will write if able, though there will be much work to do, great labors perhaps, but I will still attempt a letter. Good-bye!" With that, he turned quickly with a flick of his coachman's cloak and exited the lantern store.

Numps began to sing and mutter.

Rossamund could feel-almost see-the glimner withdraw into himself, no longer heeding the prentice sitting by him. Rossamund quietly returned to the manse and left the glimner to his introspections.

The prentices were not even properly awake when the Lamplighter-Marshal, Sebastipole, the Marshal's adjutant, accompanying secretaries and a small quarto of lifeguards left in three lentums that next morning. Preparing for parade with a heavy heart, Rossamund marched out with his subdued fellows to find the entire pageant-of-arms in similar mood.The sudden departure of their beloved Marshal to duties in the Idlewild was not so uncommon, yet word had got about that it was a sis edisserum that had taken him away-and this was shocking. Rossamund could almost sense resentment bubbling under this veneer of fine martial order as they gathered on the Grand Mead.

The weather shared the oppressive mood.There had been frost that morning after a clear, cold night. But as the sun climbed to its meridian, powerful winds blew from south of southeast, their gusts only partly foiled by Winstermill's ponderous walls. Clouds so thick they were almost black arrived on its threatening breath, and the tang of rain and lightning was heavy on the air.

Standing preeminent before the entire population of the manse, Podious Whympre, Master-of-Clerks and next in line of command after the Lamplighter-Marshal, looked out upon all those now under his sway, peacock-proud, and peacock-preened. Laudibus Pile, Witherscrawl and his genuflection of sycophants stood close behind.

Wooden screens had been pegged to the ground with guy ropes and stakes to spare Whympre and his tail any ruffling buffets of wind. His audience simply endured and, during the course of the pageant, many hats found wing in the gusts and crashed into the northern wall or sought the broad meadows of the Harrowmath.

"Our beloved Lamplighter-Marshal has been recalled to the Considine," Whympre began with clerkly sobriety. "The Emperor is concerned for the proper administration of his beloved highroad and seeks an accounting from our own faithful Marshal. A Most Honorable Imperial Secretary"-murmurs through all ranks-"arrived from High Vesting bearing the directive of the subcapital late yesterday evening with a sis edisserum marked by the Emperor's own Chief-of-Staff." He took a breath, waiting for the troubled rumbling of the assembly to still. "Therefore, our dear, dear Marshal was compelled to leave at first change of watch this morning and may well be gone for an extended time."

Though the lighters and auxiliaries already knew the Lamplighter-Marshal had departed, there was nevertheless a small roar of dismay at this final confirmation. It was unheard of-powerfully discomfiting to all-and only with the severest reprimands was a pretense of order maintained.

"With his absence," the Master-of-Clerks continued, "need must fall to me to take the daily toil of our glorious manse in hand. I shall endeavor to lead in his stead, in a manner truly befitting an outpost of the most Serene and Mighty Emperor. In that capacity I shall be forced to assume the rank of Marshal-Subrogat…" He continued like this for a numbingly long stretch. His loyal aides did the same, extolling the Master-of-Clerks, inflating his virtues, sounding as if they were trying to convince those gathered of the clerk-master's fitness to lead. Within all this gabbling came the first significant announcement: the Master-of-Clerks was to allow vigil-day visits to Silvernook-beginning on that very day. Even as he said this, near a dozen lentums began to roll out from the yard, ready to take those interested in a day on the town. In their delight the wind of many lifted and they began to think their new executive officer a capital fellow after all. A happy mumbling stirred through the prentices, though Rossamund did not share their easily won enthusiasm.

"Button it shut, flabberers, or ye'll all be staying in yer cells for the day!" Grindrod growled huskily, and stillness was purposefully restored. For the entire pageant till now the lamplighter-sergeant had been glaring up at the clerk-master, mustachios bristling in disgust. "What does he know of lighting?" Rossamund heard him mutter to Benedict.

The Master-of-Clerks mollified them all still further by adding that they could expect roasted mutton with thick gravy for mains and treacle crowdy for puddings, with rich bully-dicey to be served at middens for those left behind. Had it been allowed, all the other prentices and many lampsmen and pediteers and the clerks would have shouted for glee.