masters.Yet while they ate together and the first enthusiasm receded a little, he became aware of an unfamiliar awkwardness.
Determined to enjoy their company, Rossamund launched into the most full and hearty recounting of his life since leaving Madam Opera's. Describing the fight with the rever-man, he made direct connection with Swill, expressing his suspicions as part of the tale. The sorrow of the ruination of Wormstool flooded out like relief. He even talked a little of Freckle too; of the Hogshead and the wood near Wormstool; of the sparrows and Cinnamon, and especially of Europe and of Numps. His masters listened to it all in utter silence, a sign of respect, till he was done. It felt so good to have out with the whole tale, start to end and all the in betweens. When he had finished, a great weight had lifted from his shoulders.
'This Miss Europe lassie sounds like an uncommon remarkable woman,' Craumpalin enthused. 'I remember her mentioned in thy letters.'
'I was alarmed to hear ye conjecturin' about yer surgeon bein' a dastardly, naught-good massacar!' said Fransitart.
'Oh, aye, Master Fransitart! And that Podious Whympre fellow is right in it with him!'
'What's the place comin' to?' Craumpalin growled. 'Why ain't he in hand with the authorities then?'
'Doctor Crispus knows, and Mister Sebastipole and I reckon the old Lamplighter-Marshal does too, but there is nothing any of them think they can do about it.' Rossamund spoke quickly in his frustration. 'About the only one who could do something is Miss Europe, and she says let them choke on their own rope.'
'Always the way with them lahzars.' Fransitart shook his head. 'Crotchety and crosswards. Still, her notion has wisdom.'
'What have we sent the lad into, Frans?' Craumpalin exclaimed. 'We've got to get thee away from 'ere, Rossamund!'
'And I would go with you, Master Pin, but that I made an oath to serve as a lighter and I've been paid the Billion.'
'Aye, right ye are, Rossamund.' Fransitart smiled his approbation. 'We raised ye 'onorable and that way ye should stay. It's a difficult task to stay faithful beyond endurance. We'll figure a loose for this impossible-seemin' knot yet.'
'Aye aye!' Craumpalin added. 'Might be possible to get thee an acquittance.'
'An acquittance, Master Craumpalin?'
'Aye, an all-encompassing, all-official release from bound service. Prodigious handy.'
Fransitart nodded. In a firm hush he said, 'And did I hear ye right when ye spoke of that Freckle fellow that 'e's a bogle?'
Rossamund felt a guilty leap in his belly. 'Aye, he's… he's a-a glamgorn.'
'Thee what?' Craumpalin exclaimed, spitting some ale.
'He helped me-' he added quickly, 'more than once.'
'Do others know ye 'ave been talkin' with this wee thing?' asked Fransitart. 'To be talkin' civil with a bogle is a sedorning offense, Rossamund. They can gibbet ye for that! I know we taught ye to use yer own intellectuals, but speakin' with a nasty bain't quite where I thought ye'd take me advice.'
'Sorry, Master Fransitart,' Rossamund squeaked.
'Once said is done,' the master said, sighing deeply. 'Whatever happens to ye from here on, lad, Master Pin and I'll be right by ye.'
'Too right!' agreed Craumpalin.
They continued their meal, Rossamund losing his appetite to worry.
'Master Fransitart? Master Craumpalin?'
'Aye, lad,' the two said together.
'Freckle has said some prodigious strange things to me.'
'What manner o' things?'
'That he could tell what I am by my name.'
Fransitart and Craumpalin looked blank at this.
'That people were my friends who would not be my friends if they knew… knew something,' Rossamund pushed on. 'That I was safer with him. That he wanted to take me to the Duke of Sparrows.'
The two old salts became glassy-eyed, the kind of expressionlessness that hid deeper workings.
'Such is one half of the trouble ye get from talkin' to bogles,' Fransitart reflected soberly. 'They rarely make sense.'
'You've spoken to bogles, Master Fransitart?' Rossamund peered at the man in astonishment.
'Aye, lad. And this is the first time I've said on it.'
'Miss Verline once wrote me that you had something to tell me. Something not for letters but for ears alone.' Rossamund tried, thinking this must have been that something.
The old dormitory master went a gray color Rossamund had never seen him go before. The two old salts swapped meaningful glances and the awkwardness, instead of dissolving, got worse.
'Well, that I did,' Fransitart said slowly through a mouthful of salt pork, 'and… and bless 'er for lettin' ye know.'
'Are they the same strange and shocking things you wanted to tell me before I left?' Rossamund pressed.
'Aye, they just might be.' Fransitart chose his words carefully. 'Be that as it might, though I have yer ears 'ere open and ready, I reckon now is not th' time for them ears to hear.' He leaned in. 'Ye know we've always sought yer best, aye, lad?'
'Aye, Master Fransitart.'
'That Master Pin and I have worked only for what we reckoned as right for ye, aye?'
Craumpalin nodded in emphasis.
'Aye, sir.' Rossamund frowned, baffled.
'Well, trust us that when it's time for telling, then that'll be th' time we'll tell ye. Aye?'
Rossamund nodded. He could not fathom what manner of despicable revelation his old master knew that made him so reluctant. Either way he knew he would not get any more on this from his old masters tonight.
The three ate and looked at each other uncomfortably for a time, but talk gradually returned to happy things: to tales of the old vinegaroons' long-gone adventures together at sea; to fond memories of marine society days- whatever it required to lift them and bring them close again. Rossamund could have stayed forever in that cozy, happy womb of cheer and love. Anything to smother the growing dread.
29
Imperial Secretary highest ranked of all the Haacobin Empire's bureaucrats; men and women of great influence and power, not so much because of their own rank, but because of the status of the ears and minds they have such ready access to-the senior ministers of the Emperor, and even the great man himself. The favor of an Imperial Secretary can be the making of you: disfavor your ruin. Though often of common birth, they are typically courted and feted by peers, especially the lowly ranked, and by gentry and magnates too, eager for some kind of advancement or boon. One does not strive to be an Imperial Secretary for dreams and hopes of reform, but for the sake of pure ambition and ego
The morning of the inquiry after a brief wash and short breakfast, Rossamund was led to the offices of the subrogat-marshal between two foot-guards, like a prisoner. Fransitart and Craumpalin went with him, heads high and dignified, vinegaroons of tested worth in support of a worthy mate. They were recognized as interested parties
