tinctured small beer while Grindrod watched to make sure they swallowed it all. This would normally be the time that a quarto would be returning from lighting, had the prentice-watches not been suspended. Rossamund was considering paying a call on Numps at middens when Benedict marched on to the ground.
The under-sergeant muttered for a moment with Grindrod, then summoned Rossamund out of file, to the surprise of all the lantern-sticks. Benedict wore an odd expression-somewhere between bemusement and admiration-as he took the young prentice aside. 'You have an eminent visitor, prentice-lighter, and have been granted the time to spend with them,' he said officiously, adding in a friendly undertone, 'and might I say you keep some odd and powerful company, lad.'
'Who-' Yet before Rossamund could finish asking he smelled a welcome, well-known perfume drift past. Heart pounding, he spun about. There, in all her healthy bloom, was Europe, the Branden Rose, the Duchess-in-waiting of Naimes, the one who had saved him from a foul end, the one he himself had rescued.
'Well hello, little man,' she said in her silken voice, smiling, amused, maybe even happy to see him. 'Still fumbling your way through, I see.'
'Hello, Miss Europe.' He could barely manage a hoarse wheeze. It was such a strange sensation to see her familiar face in these now familiar precincts. Her hair was pinned up but without the usual crow's-claw hair-tine; her deep scarlet frock coat was of another style, made from some kind of short-cropped hide-like the head of a new- barbered lighter-its glossy reds shifting and mottled. Over this she wore a short black pollern-coat with broad collars and sleeves of creamy-hued fur that was faintly spangled at its cuffs with darker spots. Her black boots were trimmed with fur, which made a fuzzy hem at the top of each boot and protruded between the buckles up the sides. This was Europe rugged against the cold.
Rossamund did not know what to do with himself: some of him wanted to throw his arms about her in sheer delight. The significant part-that part which governs in the end what we really do rather than what we wish we might-was afraid. So he just stood and stared. 'You've come,' he managed.
The fulgar raised an amused eyebrow. 'So it would appear. I have come to knave myself to these kind lamplighters and the citizens of the Placidia Solitus, in so desperate straits they send their pleading bills all the way south to Sinster.' Her face was straight but her voice amused. 'What's a kind-winded girl to do when such plaintive notes are sung?' She was in finer fettle than of their last parting, rosy-cheeked with a shrewd twinkle in her eye. The surgeons of Sinster must have done their infamous work well. 'Tell me, little man…' Europe leaned forward a little. 'Why did you not write me? Did you not miss me?'
'I thought you would be too busy to read any letter of mine, Miss Europe,' Rossamund answered.
'Why, I do believe he blushes!' Europe laughed. 'That young lady certainly watches us keenly,' she said, shifting subjects. 'She knows you?'
Rossamund looked and saw Threnody standing alone on Evolution Green, the other prentices gone now, dismissed for readings. Her arms folded and her face shadowed under the brim of her thrice-high, she was clearly paying Europe and Rossamund pointed attention.
'Aye, Miss Europe, that's Threnody. She's a prentice like me.' Rossamund attempted a small wave.
Threnody flushed, turned on her heel and marched away without a rearward look.
'A girl as a lighter-how intriguing. I think she might have set her heart on you, little man.'
Rossamund blushed deeper shades. 'Hardly, miss! She's never happy with anything I say and spends most of her time either ignoring me or huffing and puffing and rolling her eyes. Besides which, she's older-'
Europe gave a loud peal of honest mirth. 'My, my!'
At the start of the Cypress Walk, Threnody turned to the happy, incongruous sound, and Rossamund was sure she glowered.
Touching the corners of her eyes, the fulgar asked with a smile still in her voice, 'And how did she find her way here to vex you so?'
'She was a calendar before, but she has come here to get away from her mother.'
Europe gave a wry smile. 'I know how she feels,' the fulgar murmured. 'Mothers are best fled… Now come along, little man, I have been granted the rest of the day with you by your kindly Marshal. Let us get out of this cold.' She handed him a small, beautifully wrapped parcel. 'It is just as well I brought this trifle for you.Your neck is bluer than a wren's.'
Within the gaudy, fashionably spotted package was a magenta-red scarf made with fine twine.
'It's tinctured sabine,' the fulgar explained airily. 'You can only get it from this one little fellow on the high- walks in Flint. It looks good on you-matches prettily with the harness.'
Rossamund was happily dumbfounded. Europe wanted to spend the day with him and she had given him a present. When they had last parted company she had not said a word in final farewell, nor even waved good-bye. Yet here she was seeking his company. He felt rather odd following the fulgar with a present under his arm. Heads turned as she led him down along the drive and through the coach yard: lentermen, postilions and yardsmen gazed, distracted, habitually disapproving of her trade but heartily admiring her face and grace.
'I have sent the landaulet back to Brandenbrass.' She chatted easily, oblivious to the stir she was causing. 'It was too much trouble to find both horse and driver at once. It will be a relief not to have to fuss about stabling and repairs and thrown shoes. Let another worry about that…'
She led him up a steep flight of stairs to the guest billets. Like a small wayhouse, it lacked a common room but had private rooms in its stead, and secluded dinner rooms as well as a lounge for guests to receive guests of their own. This last was Europe's destination, a small, warm apartment with comfortable chairs along each wall, thin windows looking out to the business of coach yard and Mead below. A well-fueled fire crackled in the friendliest of ways in the corner.
Summoning refreshments, the Branden Rose took off her pollern and sat on a long tandem chair, stretching out like a man, her back slouching, long legs crossed over at the ankles.
'So how is the life of a lamplighter turning for you?' she inquired complacently. 'Still as adventurous as that pawky postman made it out to be?'
Perching himself on the edge of the settee adjacent to the reclining fulgar, Rossamund put his hat beside him as his eyes roamed the room. 'It has been mostly come and go and march and stop, Miss Europe, and very little time for reading or thinking. But in the last couple of weeks there have been two theroscades. I have also met a glimner called Mister Numps and delivered a pig's head to our surgeon for the Snooks.'
Europe fixed him with her sharp hazel gaze. 'Tell me of these monsters attacking.'
Refreshments arrived in the hands of a bobbing porter and Europe ordered food for the two of them. As they waited Rossamund recounted the two theroscades, starting with the horn-ed nickers assaulting the carriage and the deeds of the calendars. 'That is when Threnody joined us.'
'The girl lampsman who was so fascinated earlier?' Europe asked, oh so casually. 'She is a wit?'
'Aye, and she's the daughter of the calendars' august.'
'My. How very impressive. The Lady Vey's progeny is a wit, a calendar and a lamplighter?'
Rossamund ignored the sarcasm. 'You know of her mother?'
'We have had occasion to meet, yes.' The fulgar raised her hand as if to say that was all she would tell.
Heeding this, Rossamund pressed on with an account of the flight from the Herdebog Trought and Bellicos' death, still so large in his memory. His telling was briefer, more subdued.
Europe sat a little straighter. 'It is a… difficult thing to lose one you know to the wickedness of some unworthy nickery basket,' she said softly. 'Do you wish you had become my factotum after all?'
'I've wished a lot of things since being here, Miss Europe,' Rossamund demurred, 'but I am signed to serve as a lamplighter now and have been given the Emperor's Billion and all.'
'So you choose to be stuck on one stretch of road for the rest of your days? What a waste.'
The two of them looked at each other for a long moment until Rossamund dropped his gaze. 'I don't want a life of violence,' he said.
'You're living one now!' the fulgar retorted. 'I tell you, child, this life is nothing but violence-even if you do not seek it, others will bring it to you.' She leaned forward and fixed him with a terrible eye. 'Do not make the mistake, Rossamund, of living easy behind the feats of others and all the while thinking yourself better for not joining the slaughter.'
