D Cornish - The Lamplighter

From the small bottle, Swill dabbed the young lighter's fingertip with a thin, straw-yellow fluid, then dipped the guillion-tip in the same.

"This is libermane," he explained to the room. "To make the sanguine humours flow easy."

The surgeon deftly punctured Rossamund's fingertip with the guillion and more blood than Rossamund expected began to drip out.

Feeling stupidly giddy, the young prentice let many drops of his blood splicker into the dish to form a little puddlet there.

"That will be sufficient," Swill said when a coin-sized puddle of it had collected in the dish. With professional regard, he automatically passed Rossamund a pledget to stanch the tiny wound.

"Hark ye, clever-cogs! I shall go first," Fransitart insisted, looking very much as if he wanted to pound the surgeon to stuff. With a look of deep revulsion he removed his wide-collared day-coat and, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt, presented the inside of his wrist. "Right there'll do fine, ye bookish blackguard," he growled malignantly at Swill.

The surgeon swallowed nervously. "As you wish, Jack tar," he answered and, taking up the orbis, dipped the guillion in Rossamund's blood and began to tap away on the old dormitory master's blotched skin. Gripping the pledget to his finger, Rossamund could not watch, and he looked up at the great antlers of the Herdebog Trought splayed above them. Even in these strange circumstances he still felt revulsion at the tap-tap-tapping of orbis on needle.

Swill seemed to have barely made a start when Europe stirred. She stood and stepped directly to Rossamund.

The black-eyed wit straightened, looking ready to fight.

Distracted by Europe's action, the surgeon hesitated then stopped his tapping.

Standing by the young lighter's side, Europe looked with serene confidence at the powerful men gathered before her. "This has all been greatly diverting," she said with a tone of mild amusement, "but I must now say, gentlemen and strigs, that it is time Rossamund and I were going. His tenure with the lighters has, I think it is safe to say, come to an end." She touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Come along, Rossamund."

"Stay where you are, Lampsman!" The Master-of-Clerks stood in turn.

Rossamund hesitated out of martial habit.

"You cannot take him, madam," Whympre contradicted disdainfully. "This is a court-martial of our Most Just Emperor, trying one of the Emperor's own servants, and we," he said, turning a haughty glance to the Imperial Secretary sitting officiously by, "we shall deal with him according to our own right rule."

"Don't come at me with that sneer in your nostrils, sir!" Europe warned. "You may have your dour Haacobin friend there"-she nodded to the Imperial Secretary-"but he is still just a clerk-whomever he might know, and you and he are together beneath me by more degrees than you have fingers or toes collected."

The Imperial Secretary began to rise, declaiming loudly, "You flagitious shrew! How dare you interrupt an Imperial proceeding while-"

"You, Master Secretary, tread dangerous turfs!" Europe's eyes went wide in indignation. "You are addressing Europa, Duchess-in-waiting of Naimes, Peer of the Haacobin Empire, Marchess of the Vewe, shareward of the Soutland states, descendant of Euodice-speardame of the immortal Idaho, and of Eutyche her granddaughter-spurn to Dido, and the Branden Rose, terror to man and nicker alike, and I will dare, sir, and I do!"

The Imperial Secretary opened his mouth to remonstrate, but Europe spoke him down. "If that will not silence you, impudent wretch, then I say simply QGU and now the matter is done!"

QGU? Rossamund stared. Quo gratia! Europe was using her ancient right as a peer to overrule any court. She was using it for him…

The Lady Vey glowered at the fulgar scornfully.

The black-eyed wit took a step forward, but was stopped by a brusque wave of Secretary Sicus' hand.

"Good day to you, Master Secretary," she concluded. "You are at perfect liberty to go tell of my wielding of this venerable privilege to your cunning masters and all your fellow glaucologs up in Clementine, babbling away and filling the world with words; it will do you little good. For if it is a trading of status and influence you seek, I come ready prepared."

To this not even the Imperial Secretary had a fit or contrary answer.

"Come, Rossamund, we go." The fulgar took him by the hand.

Rossamund glanced quickly at the thunderstruck Board and fumbled the chair out from the table, tripping on one of the legs in his haste. Without a word needing to be said, Fransitart took a pledget from the table, rolled down his sleeve, put his day-coat back on, and he and Craumpalin followed after. The rest of the room were too stunned to act. Heading not too briskly down the passages of the manse-far be it for Europe to hurry-Craumpalin handed Fransitart a handkerchief to wrap the puncting-wound upon his wrist.

"We can't thank ye enough, my lady!" the old dormitory master gruffed.

"Don't wax too grateful, old salt," Europe returned tartly, more intent on exit than gratitude. "I had not intended on rescuing the boy's entire staff, but you may come if you wish!"

"We wish it, madam," Fransitart said quickly. "We'll not leave our boy to the world's scarce mercies. Carry on-we shall get Rossamund's dunnage," the ex-dormitory master insisted. "We shall be returnin' presently!" Before any argument could be made he hurried off, no sign of any limp, Craumpalin close behind, both disappearing up the stairs to their temporary quarters.

Rossamund hesitated with his old masters' departure, feeling a strange conflict. The fulgar detained him with a touch to his sleeve. "Stay, little man. You are safest with me!"

They were out of the manse and walking the gravel drive to the coach yard when the Master-of-Clerks and the rest of the Board finally followed, gathering on the steps before the manse. Imperial Secretary Scrupulus Sicus gave a great cry, hollering for the day-watch to "descend and prevent these blighted rascals from escaping!"

Some haubardiers from the wall responded and hurried down from the battlements to the Mead to cautiously bar the way. They were clearly uneasy to be confronting a lahzar. Europe stopped before them and turned to face her pursuers.

The black-eyed wit stepped forward, grim satisfaction clear.

"Cease where you are, Madam Fulgar," the Master-of-Clerks decried boldly. "Whatever the surgeon's wild speculations, there is still the question of this lad's alleged sedonition to be answered for!"

"Tilly-fally, sir!" Europe returned with a sneer. "Bestir me not with your lip-laboring. If talking with a nicker makes one a sedorner, then I would be guilty almost every other day! Stand your men aside! Do not force me to use more physical arguments!"

The black-eyed wit hesitated.

Laudibus Pile snarled and glared.

Podious Whympre puffed himself up, spluttered and even cursed, but did not continue his intervention.

The day-watch haubardiers happily stepped aside even before the order to do so was on the clerk-master's lips.

Among them Rossamund could see Swill at the clerk-master's back, wrapping his own arm with a bandage, staring with inordinate, slow-blinking fascination at him.

Fransitart and Craumpalin returned bearing all their baggage. Somehow Doctor Crispus was with them, bearing some part of the load.

"Clear the way, thank you!" the doctor demanded, pushing through to the young lighter and the fulgar.

With some jostling and snarls, Fransitart, Craumpalin and the doctor were allowed to pass and Europe led them and Rossamund away from the flabbergasted crowd. A lentum rolled up for them-Europe's own hired carriage.

The Lady Vey and her calendars now emerged from the manse and stepped about Whympre's party and out on to the gravel drive. With profound calm Europe and the Lady Vey regarded each other as they passed. Threnody stood alongside her mother, safe among her calendine sisters. She stared at Rossamund with inscrutable intensity, the tracks of tears on her cheeks.