or below ye in station!'
'He does not lie, Pile!' Sebastipole added grimly.
'He dissimulates!' Laudibus snapped, with a black look to the Marshal then his counterpart.
'Indeed he might,' Sebastipole countered smoothly, 'but he does not lie.'
'Enough, gentlemen!' The Marshal cut through, and there was silence. He returned his attention to Rossamund. 'Now, my man, whitewashing tends only to make one look guilty. Say it straight: we only want to find how this gudgeon-basket got into our so-long inviolate home, and so stop it happening again.Where did ye gain entry into the under parts?'
'Through the old bloom baths.' Rossamund dropped his head, feeling the most wretched blackguard that ever weaseled another. 'Under the Skillions, where they once tended the bloom.' He did not mind trouble for himself near half as much as implicating Numps.
The Marshal just nodded.
'What old bloom baths?' asked the Master-of-Clerks sharply, forgetting his place perhaps, interrupting the Marshal's inquiries. 'How, by the blight, did you find such a place on your own? A place, I might add,' he continued with the barest hint of a displeased look to the Marshal, 'that I have only heard of tonight! You cannot expect us to believe you discovered such a place in solus!'
'In solus, sir?'
'By yourself,' he returned tartly. 'Who showed you where they are?'
'I-' Rossamund did not know how to answer.
'Speak it all!' Laudibus Pile spat.
'Silence!' barked the Lamplighter-Marshal. 'Another gust from ye, sir, and ye will be exiting these rooms!'
An undaunted, cunning light flickered in the depths of Pile's eyes, yet he yielded and seemed to retreat deeply within himself.
After an uncomfortable, ringing pause, the Master-of-Clerks fixed the prentice with his near-hungry stare. 'You must tell us, prentice,' he said softly, 'how then do you know of such a place?'
'It is common enough knowledge that there are ancient, seldom visited waterworks and cavities underneath our own pile, sir,' came Sebastipole's unexpected interjection.
'I think, Master-of-Clerks,' was the Lamplighter-Marshal's firm and timely addition, 'that ye may leave this line of questioning now. The boy has been brought up short enough with the night's ordeal ipse adversus-standing alone! What is more, it brings no clarity to the more troubling details.'
The Master-of-Clerks became a picture of pious obedience. 'Certainly, sir,' he returned respectfully, smoothing the gorgeous hems of his frock coat. 'I am just troubled that the existence of those old bloom baths is what has allowed the creature-if such exists-to find its way in. If that be so, then we will most certainly have to do away with the whole place,' the Master-of-Clerks declared officiously, 'to be thorough.'
From across the Marshal's desk Rossamund could see the tension in Sebastipole, the lamplighter's agent's jaw tightening, loosening, tightening, loosening with rhythmic distraction.
'But the rever-man was shut up in some old room a long way from the bloom baths,' the young prentice dared.
'So you say, child.' The Master-of-Clerks smiled serenely at Rossamund, a sweet face to cover sharp words. 'Yet if a mere prentice can find his way so deep in forgotten places, then why not some mindless monster, and these unvetted baths may well be the cause.'
The Lamplighter-Marshal raised his hand, stopping Podious Whympre short. 'There is no need and nothing gained from despoiling those old baths,' he said firmly. 'They have been here for longer than we, and are buried deeply enough, and no harm will come from the quiet potterings of faithful, incapacitated lighters.'
'You already know of it, sir?' the Master-of-Clerks replied with a studied expression. 'This-this continued unregistered, unrecorded activity? Why was I not informed… sir?'
'I do know of it, Clerk-Master Whympre,' the Marshal replied, 'and I iterate again it is not the case of most concern. I could well ask ye how it is that there is a way down from yer own chambers into these buried levels.'
The Master-of-Clerks blanched. 'It is a private store, sir. I had no idea it connected to regions more clandestine,' he explained quickly.
Other questions continued. Rossamund felt unable to answer any of them to full satisfaction: did he have any inkling of where the gudgeon had come from?
No, sir, he did not. It had, by all evidence, been locked in the room rather than having arrived from somewhere. In the end he simply had to conclude that he truly had no idea of the how or the why or the where of the gudgeon's advent.
Did he recognize where he found the gudgeon?
No, sir, he did not.
Would he be able to find the place again-or give instructions to another to do the same?
Rossamund hesitated; he could only do his best, sir. He described his left-hand logic to solving the maze and as much of the actual lay of the passages and the rest as he could recall.
And all the while the Master-of-Clerks was looking at him with his peculiar, predatory gaze. Pile seemed to sulk, and said nothing.
'I will look into this, sir,' Sebastipole declared. 'Josclin is still not well enough; Clement and I shall take Drawk and some other trusty men and seek out this buried room.' With that the lamplighter's agent left.
'If you could excuse me, Lamplighter-Marshal.' Swill stood and bowed. 'I must attend to pressing duties,' he said with a quick look to Sebastipole's back.
'Certainly, surgeon,' the Marshal replied. 'Ye are free to go-and ye may depart too, clerk-master. Yer prompt action is commendable.'
'And what of this young trespasser?' The Master-of Clerks peered down his nose at Rossamund. 'I hope you will be taking him in hand.Whatever other deeds might or might not surround him, you cannot deny that he has contravened two most inviolate rules, and it is grossly unsatisfactory that he has violated my own offices.'
'What I do with Prentice Bookchild is between him and me,' the Marshal returned firmly. 'Good night, Podious!'
With a polite and contrite bow the Master-of-Clerks left, his telltale and the surgeon following.
Grindrod was admitted in their stead, hastily dressed and looking slightly frowzy.
'Ah, Lamplighter-Sergeant!' the Marshal cried. 'Ye seem to have been missing one of yer charges, but here I am returning him to ye.'
'Aye, sir.' Grindrod stood straight and, appearing a little embarrassed, gave Rossamund a quick yet thunderous glare. 'Thank ye, sir.'
'Not at all,' the Marshal answered. 'Ye make fine lampsmen, Sergeant-lighter. This young prentice has been doing the duties of a lamplighter even as his fellows sleep. Return him to his cot and set a strong guard over his cell row. Fell doings have been afoot. We shall discuss his deeds after.'
The lamplighter-sergeant looked stunned. 'Aye, sir.' Thunder turned to puzzled satisfaction.
'Our thanks to ye, Prentice Bookchild,' the Lamplighter-Marshal said to Rossamund. 'Yer part here is done; ye played the man frank and true.Ye may turn in to yer cot at last. Be sure to report to Doctor Crispus tomorrow morning. Good night, prentice.'
With that the interview was ended.
Rossamund left under the charge of Grindrod, feeling a traitor. While he was sent to sleep, he was aware of a growing bustle about as the soldiery of the manse were woken up to defend it from any other rever-men that might emerge from below.
'I don't know whether to castigate or commend ye, young Lately!' the lamplighter-sergeant grumped as he led the prentice along the passages. 'Just get yer blundering bones to yer cot and I'll figure a fitting end for yer tomorrow.'
For another night Rossamund readied himself in the cold dark and slept with his bed chest pulled across the door to his cell.
