hands and arms, the physician remonstrated with the foot-guards-who did not relax their detention of Numps-before turning away sharply to confront the Master-of-Clerks.
As Rossamund got closer he could see that one of the men had a pincer grip on Numps' arm while the other corralled him with the shaft of his poleax.Though the two foot-guards were much heavier men than the glimner, they were hard-pressed to keep him in hand.The prentice pulled up smartly before the struggling three, skidding on the quartz pebbles of the drive, cut to his heart at the expression of utter desolation wrenching Numps'already distorted, tear-washed face. Bent with agony, the glimner howled, 'My friend! My friend! They're killing my friend!' pushing and pulling at the grip of the foot-guards.
'Let him go! What are you doing?' Rossamund hollered.
'Clap up your squealing, little sprat!' one of the soldiers spat. 'Get back to your quarters!' For added effect the man shied at Rossamund with a steel-shod boot, roughly shoving him away.
Rossamund yelped as the force of the push sat him on the gravel. All he wanted to do was set Numps free. A burst of Frazzard's powder in the foot-guards' vile puds would have served perfectly, but the prentice was without his salumanticum.
Amid the horrible yawling, he heard a shout of anger behind him.
'Poke at him like that again, you bamboozle-winded dung sop, and you'll spend the rest of Chill confusing your head for your tail!' It was Threnody, arriving to intervene. She planted herself before the lofty foot-guard, hand raised to temple in a wit's telltale attitude.
The man looked down at her, his expression thunderous. 'Shove it up your wheeze-end, little harridan!'
His fellow foot-guard glanced at Threnody hesitantly; however, Rossamund was sure he could see nervous perspiration twinkling on the fellow's brow.
'All this fuss and trouble is hardly worthy of you, my people,' the Master-of-Clerks declaimed, interrupting the contest of wills as he strode imperiously toward them. 'The bloom must be left to die.They are well likely to be responsible for that wicked gudgeon finding its way in and causing our generous, unfortunate Marshal such embarrassment!'
Rossamund knew this was a bald, pettifogging lie: monsters did not care two figs for bloom. 'That's not tr-'
The Master-of-Clerks raised his hand. 'Silence! Stop your rabble-rousing and get back to your duties! I will not tolerate such affronts.What a foolish weight of grief wasted over a few dripping weeds. Foot-guards, stuff a rag in its nose and return this one to its place of labor-'
'Your sturdy roughs have done their worst, man!' Doctor Crispus said with cold deliberation, glowering at one of the fellows as if he should know better. 'As the manse's physician, I declare this poor fellow has taken a great strain of soul today and now needs a gentler hand. By the rights granted me through the Accord of Menschen over the health of pensioned military persons, I demand he be released to my care and relieved of any more manhandling.'
'We are not at war, sir!' Whympre contradicted.
'I think you shall find that the Accord differs with you, sir.' Crispus was not to be so easily beaten. 'As would the brave lighters out there on the road.'
The Master-of-Clerks considered, eyes narrowing, lips pursing. 'This is most decidedly irregular, Doctor. I would advise you to go back to your infirmary and keep your opinions within its four walls.'
'The clerking of our Emperor's manse is for you to determine, sir-the healing of its limbs is mine.' Crispus stood tall, looking down on the clerk-master with the peremptory authority of the learned. 'Inside the infirmary's four walls and out!'
Tear-diluted spittle was running freely from Numps' nose and mouth as he began to sag in the cruel grip of his restrainers.
With a cold glare the Master-of-Clerks eventually nodded. 'I can see the wretch is ridiculously distressed. Please! Take him and set him to ease if he needs it. He will see the wisdom of today as time brings clarity. Guard- Sergeant!You may let that Numplings fellow go.'
The troubardiers obeyed and Numps collapsed. Rossamund was at his side in an instant.
'Lady Threnody.' The Master-of-Clerks gave a slight, barely respectful bow to the girl lighter. 'If I see you attempt to strive again I shall call your mother here and have her take you away.'While the peoneers worked callously on, he strode into the manse, Witherscrawl, the works-general and foot-guards scuttering after.
'Look at them leave to heel, like the curs they are!' Threnody hissed.
Numps lay curled about himself, making strange gulping noises, whispering 'Oh, my friend… oh, my friend' to himself between sobbing gasps, his eyes red and swollen, his cheeks gray and drawn. Oblivious to the sharp pebbles of the drive, Rossamund knelt and embraced the glimner as best he could, an awkward, inadequate reach across the man's convulsing back.
Doctor Crispus was unwilling to provoke Numps further by taking him into the manse. Calling for two porters and a stretcher, he had the glimner taken to the lantern store. Rossamund and Threnody accompanied them as, whimpering and unresponsive, Numps was set gingerly on his pallet in a small, nestlike domestic nook of the store.
'I shall return presently with a soothing draught for the poor fellow,' Crispus instructed Rossamund. 'There is no circumstance under which this would have happened if the Marshal was still present,' he concluded heatedly.
'My, how kitten does play with father cat away,' Threnody concurred. 'The clerk-master behaves a little differently without someone to check him.'
'Indeed, my dear. The worm has turned, I think.' With a bow, the physician left.
Speechless with shame and regret, Rossamund could think of no comfort as Numps lay curled about himself, rocking on his cot by the clean, cold light of the well-kept great-lamp. When he did finally find voice, all he could say for a time was, 'Sorry… I'm so sorry.'
But all he got in reply from Numps was, over and over, 'My friend… you're killed again…'
'If I had known the Master-of-Clerks would treat your baths so, there is nothing that would have made me tell of them!' Rossamund said bitterly, tears threatening.
'There's no way you could have guessed ahead to that fellow's wretchedness, Rossamund,' Threnody murmured, touching him on the arm and actually managing to bring some comfort. 'I'm sure Dolours would say something much the same were she here,' the girl added as a qualification for her soothing.
When Crispus returned, it was a bitter fortune that the glimner, so insensible with shock, went quickly to sleep under the influence of the physician's soother. Crispus, Threnody and Rossamund sat for a while by Numps' side, watching over him.
'What is going to happen to him, Doctor?' whispered Rossamund.
'He will recover, my boy.' The physician smiled kindly. 'I have seen him through worse and will see him through again.'
Rossamund was in doubt. 'He should have gone with Mister Sebastipole.'
'I do not think the Considine is a good place for him either,' Crispus replied. 'In fact, you would have a hard time getting him out of Winstermill. It was remarkable that he even ventured up on to the Mead today.'
Rossamund sat in silent thought. 'Doctor Crispus, what will happen to Winstermill-to us all-without the Marshal here?'
The physician sighed, deep and sad. 'I have not one notion, my boy, though if today's travesty is an indicator of our new leader's method, then it just might be an unhappy end for us all.'
'Here I was beginning to enjoy the life.' Threnody's muttered words were heavy with irony. 'I was telling Rossamund before, good Doctor, that events have fallen very well for our dastardly clerk-master.'
'Why, child, I suppose they have.' Crispus stroked his chin. 'Yet I can hardly conceive of him orchestrating all the manifold trials that have beset us and the brave Marshal most of all.'
'I have been a pupil of Mother's long enough to know only a prod here and a coaxing there is enough to bring another down,' Threnody waxed sagaciously. 'Their troubles do the rest for you.'
The physician looked at her for a moment. 'Is that so, child? I wonder at the rather bleak nature of the lessons your good mother holds.'
Rossamund marveled at this glimpse of the bizarre life the girl must have led before she joined the lighters.
