D Cornish - Foundling

The door they approached opened, casting an oblong of light on the scene. A lanky man in a maroon powder jacket and stocking cap stood there, looking tight-faced and beady-eyed. "What is all this huff and scuffle?" he demanded tetchily.

"We've got two new arrivals, sir," Teagarden offered respectfully, "an' this lady is poorly. Physic-needingly so, sir. She also be a lahzar, sir, so I'd thunk it best we come through the back ways to avoid raising an unnecessary alarum."

"Well, good, good, Teagarden, no need to wait for my permission, man, if you see a physician is needed." The lanky man, who was obviously of some importance at this establishment, seemed the type to be peeved no matter how he was answered. "Bring them in, man, bring them in. Don't wait for me to invite you. Hello there, my boy-you look most weary. Welcome to the Harefoot Dig. I am Mister Billetus, the proprietor.We will do all that we might for your mother, and for yourself too."

Mother?

This Mister Billetus, the proprietor, took Rossamund by the hand and gave it a stiff shake. Europe was carried on within and down a passage of white daub and many doors. It looked very much like a servants' entrance.

"Now, fellows," Mister Billetus continued, "take the boy's poor mother to the Left Wing, Room Twelve." He addressed Rossamund. "'Tis the only room we have left for persons of quality as yourselves. Quality which, if I may be so bold, I can see you have in spades. Will it do?"

Rossamund had no idea if the room would or would not do. Any room was good as far as he thought. "Any room will do, sir. I just want her to be seen to by a physic…"

"Excellent, excellent. Of course, certainly. Go on, fellows," Mister Billetus said, turning to the gaters and yardsman, "the mother needs seeing to-get her to her room! Properato!"

Teagarden seemed reluctant, but said, "Right you are, sir. Ah…?"

"Yes, Teagarden?"

"Like I said afore, sir, she be a lahzar."

The proprietor's eyebrows shot up. After brief reflection he recovered. "Well, I didn't make her that way, man. Money is money. Keep her hidden from my wife for now. What Madam Felicitine doesn't know won't hurt us! I'll sort the rest. Off to their room, now, now!"

Holding a pale bright-limn, Mister Billetus led them through a labyrinthine confusion of dark passages and darker doors.

A boy joined them and Mister Billetus said to him, "Ah-ha! Little Dog! There you are, you scamp! Now hurry and quick to Doctor Verhooverhoven's estates and bring the good physician back with you. No dawdling! Lives are in the balance."

Despite his fatigue, Rossamund thought it mightily untoward to send such a little fellow out while it was still dark. Little Dog did not seem happy about it either. Nevertheless he dashed off stoutly.

"The physician should be here within the hour," Mister Billetus said with open satisfaction. "Good, good, to your room we go."

Mister Billetus stopped by a door and looked at Rossamund just as a cat might coolly regard an agile mouse. "You, er, can afford these lodgings, can't you?"

Rossamund's heart skipped a beat. He thought on the expensive foods and fine upholstery of the landaulet-all of Europe's flaunted wealth-and declared, with a quick-witted rattle of his own purse, "Absolutely."

Billetus looked powerfully relieved. "Wonderful! So you won't object to settling a portion of your board in advance, then?"

"I, ah… no." The foundling hoped he was doing the right thing.

"Good, good. One night's billet, board and attendance for a room of such elegance-and I do believe, by the cut of your clothes, that elegance is in order-the board for such a room is six sequins, paid in advance for two nights. If you leave after the first night, then we happily reimburse you. So, we should count this as your first night-since indeed it is not over yet-and say, with a carlin and a tuck, that you will be paid up to the morning of tomorrow night. Agreed?"

Rossamund's overtaxed mind cogitated the sums: There's twenty guise to a sequin and sixteen sequins in a sou. So-two lots of six sequins was twelve sequins. A carlin is a ten-sequin piece and a tuck a two-sequin piece. Ten and two makes twelve-twelve sequins, again. I reckon it's right-sure is a lot, though… He thought his head might burst. "Aye… I think. Uh… thank you."

Mister Billetus held out his free hand, palm uppermost.

Rossamund looked at it dumbly for a while, then realized the proprietor was wanting payment now. The foundling fingered about in his purse, finding only the gold Emperor's Billion coin he had received on entering the lamplighter service, three sequins and a guise coin. He frowned, thought for a moment and then handed the gold billion to Billetus. The proprietor looked down at his payment with astonishment.

"Does-" Rossamund's voice caught in his throat. "Does that cover it?"

"Um… it's a little… irregular, but yes. It's certainly legal tender and covers the fare amply. It will even buy you breakfast for the mornings." Billetus pocketed the coin while he opened the door.

The room beyond was large and of a luxury the foundling did not think possible. There were two beds, their highly decorative heads against one wall, billowing linen and eiderdowns of the softest cotton. The floor was wooden boards polished till they were slick, the white walls and high ceiling-richly decorated with flutes and twirls-made buttery yellow in the lantern's glow. In the foundlingery a room of this size would have been used to bunk twenty, where this was meant for just two. Europe was being laid on the farther bed as Rossamund and the proprietor entered. A worn-looking blanket-looking out of place in its fine surroundings-was stretched upon this bed to stop the coverlets from being ruined by the fulgar's travel-grimed gear.

A maid, two tubs and several pitchers of steaming water arrived.

Mister Billetus excused himself and Rossamund bathed behind a screen while the maid attended to Europe behind another. He almost fell asleep in the tub, but the maid, finished with her attentions on the fulgar, woke him with an impatient cough. Before too long he was clean-cleaner than he had ever felt in his whole life, dressed in a nightgown and lying in a bed, the very softness of which swallowed him whole. Europe lay, much like he, bathed and in her bed, in a borrowed nightgown.

"Is she better?" Rossamund managed, vaguely aware that the maid was hovering about doing who knows what.

"She fares as well as she may, considerin'…" she hushed. "You can sleep, little boy-her state won't change just on your attentions."

Lamps were doused. The maid left. In the dimness of a growing dawn Rossamund watched the feverish Europe. He could not tell when or how, but in that soft, warm bed of the smoothest cotton, sleep finally took him. He awoke with a deep fright, released at last from churning nightmares of Licurius' bloody end. The room was too white, too bright, the ceiling too florid and the bed too strange. Then he realized where he was. Rossamund was beginning to tire of waking in strange places. Some comfort it was then that the bed was so soft and so warm. He stretched luxuriously, wrapped in its wholly unfamiliar feeling, then sat up and looked about. There was a tall window at the far end, its two panes flung open, letting in cold air and the birdsong of late afternoon that had brought him to reality. The world beyond it, of straight trunks and bare, tangled twigs, was wintry but golden with afternoon sun. The choir of birds-the soft, insistent cooing of some type of pigeon, the twitter-twitter of many small beaks and an unusual call going warble-warble-warble-chortle-was strangely loud and altogether foreign.

The room itself was empty, inasmuch as there was no one else walking about in it. However, the bed near him, on his left, before that open window, was occupied.