nosegay sellers, Carp negotiated his young charge about a rather noisome pile of various excretions of dung- including a great many rabbit pellets-but was brought up short by a quarto of serious gents. Robustly harnessed and bearing pistols and cudgels, they were moving through the crowd as a single mass, making a way for a singularly enormous fellow shambling with them, the very one who had bawled at him from the pack drag. Between the cleats of a tentlike soutaine, Rossamund spied a wheeled frame extending down from the overlarge man's waist-a lard- barrow-the device straining to hold up the pendulous massing of the man's satin-wrapped flesh. Here was one of the infamous elephantines of the Grumid states, the wealthiest, most powerful magnates who boasted their great affluence and influence by the equal extremity of their girth.
Mister Carp blessed the bloated fellow with a solemn bow.
Tiny porcine eyes coldly calculating, the sweating elephantine sneered at the man-of-business, said nothing, and the humorless assembly moved on.
'That was His Most Elephantine Pendulous Ib,' Carp breathed with disturbing admiration, shepherding Rossamund before him to climb the broad steps of the coursing house. Between massive trunk-thick columns were two doors, the right-hand admitting and releasing a steady rush of scopps and postmen in their distinctive Imperial mottle hauling great bags of letters.
'Right for post! Left for knaves!' the man-of-business said, pausing only briefly at the left-hand portal to wait gallantly for an ebony-skinned skold in white conice, fitch and cloak with startling white spoor-stripes down either side of her dark face. A scion of lands well to the north, far away N'go or somesuch, this skolding woman nodded gratefully to Carp and dazzled Rossamund with her brilliant smile as she led a long line of servants from the knavery.
The interior of the Letter and Coursing House was a wide space divided down its middle by a massive wooden structure that reached up to the carbuncles of small, ever-glowing gretchen-globes hanging from a lofty dome punctured with a constellation of portholes. At the very back of the hall was a pair of huge arched windows, their central panes orbs of fiery scarlet encircled with rays glazed alternately deep transparent brown or translucent white. An arcade of pillars ran left along the wall, each post painted from base to capital with murals of teratologically violent scenes. Gazing up to the balconies, Rossamund saw bureaucratical folk leaning on the balustrades taking their ease and looking down smugly over the variety of adventuring sorts gathered beneath them.
A whole collection of teratologists and attached staff were milling in the echoing expanse, even more fabulous than the sell-swords who had paraded through Winstermill. Here were wits, fulgars, skolds, pistoleers, sagaars, ledgermains, leers and startling combinations of the same in one soul. Most sat easy in the arcade beneath the balconies, waiting for their servants to sort the finer points. Less gaudy, threadbare pugnators waited in line themselves, queuing with the ordinary factoti and agents before the lattice-windows of the knaving-clerks. It was an entire room of monster-slayers.
What was Europe thinking to send me here? Swallowing hard, Rossamund was heartily glad he had fresh splashings of Exstinker wrapped about his middle.
'Longest line shrinks quickest,' Carp proclaimed, and went straight to the end of a lengthier queue. 'Though not that line,' he continued quietly, indicating the largest collection of people farther on, most carrying some fashion of stained or heavy-looking bag. 'They are waiting to claim their prizes.'
Well reckoning what grisly trophies these contained, Rossamund did not dwell on them long.
Carp peered askance at the motley teratologists lined before him. 'Goose-a-score incompetents,' came his snide mutter. 'A knave cannot be much chop if he has to represent himself to an underwriter.' He breathed a know- it-all sigh. 'It is easy enough to buckle on proofing, sling an arm at your side and pretend to yourself and others that you are thew, but only a scant few are what you would call true teratologists.'
Bothered as he was by the man-of-business' superior tones, Rossamund had to agree it would have been entirely unseemly for Europe to stand there like some common agent, meekly waiting her turn. Even he, in his weathered blue frock coat, looked finer than many of the dowdy bravoes ahead of him. With so many teratologists about, he could well imagine why some might struggle to make enough to even keep themselves 'in biscuits'-as Master Fransitart might say. Staring at this collection of gaudily dressed destroyers, he suddenly felt acutely anxious for monster-kind. How could they survive such a horde, incompetent or not?
'What is laughable,' Carp continued, low-voiced, 'is that there are many places in the Empire that would be fortunate indeed to see even one such inferior sort in half-a-dozen months, let alone a pugnator of proper capability. Such as these might make themselves a vizer's hoard from work in lonely habitations if they dared to forsake city comforts.'
Rossamund thought of Wormstool sacked and Bleak Lynche in terror of the monsters marauding out in the Frugelle, isolated folks at the mercy of carnivorous nickers.Yet these honest folk were there to take the land for themselves by force, subtle or overt.
'Still,' Carp rattled on in his dry, supercilious tone, 'there is always work here if they wish to spurn themselves to the magnates and lords.'
A slight, hungry-looking skold in front frowned vaguely over her shoulder, her eyes sunken and haunted. Mister Carp smiled a self-satisfied smile at her. As she was called forward, a leer-obvious with a sthenicon strapped to his face-walked near, clad in a haubardine of woodland hues. The fellow seemed to pause as he passed. Rossamund instinctively shied, pushing before Mister Carp, seeking to hide behind the man-of-business.
'My word! Steady on, young fellow,' Carp exclaimed.
Yet in a hall filled with all manner of residual monstrous smells the leer did not pay him especial heed and moved on.
'Well-a-day, child, how might I aid you?' came a bored voice through the lattice in front of them.
Mister Carp gave a cough and cocked a brow toward the speaker.
'Oh.' Rossamund stepped forward hastily, peering at the barely discernible figure-a knaving underwriter. He held up Europe's vaingloria and announced steadily, 'I am the factotum of Europa, Duchess-in-waiting of Naimes, the Branden Rose.'
'Are you now?' was the amused response. 'You are certainly of lesser proportions to her usual man. Is he poorly?'
'Aye, I am, and no, he is not poorly. He died in the Brindleshaws not six months ago.'
'This is all true and correct,' Carp confirmed, leaning into the view of the lattice.
There was a moment's silence. 'Oh' was the eventual response. 'Well-a-day, Pragmathes Carp… I–I take it her ladyship will be expecting advertisements of work to be sent to her as is usual?'
'Aye,' Rossamund replied, and then repeated the formula Europe had given him. 'The Branden Rose wishes it to be known that she is at her usual seat and awaiting coursing work, either writ or singular.'
'If you but pay the clerking fee, sir,' the clerk stated with breathy efficiency, 'two sous to register your mistress' intent and ten sequins for the clerk-at-foot to bring the advertisements to you.We shall fill an intent for you and send all writs and singulars to your mistress as soon as we might.' There was a pause accompanied by the sound of pages turning behind the screen. 'Cross your hands over your soul,' the clerk eventually added.
With a quick blink, Rossamund obediently put one hand over the other, right where his ribs met his stomach, feeling the folds of the nullodoured bandage hidden beneath.
'Now answer me this if you would, sir,' the underwriter declared with a slightly more officious tone. 'Do you, upon your solemn, continuing and mortal affirmation, declare that you are the true and foremost representative of Europa of Naimes, astrapecrith and teratologist; that you accept all culpability should the aforesaid prove to be false whether by intent or ignorance; and that you accept that I, Dandillus Pym, Coursing Underwriter, inquisit this by general and representative authority in the name of His Most Serene Highness, the Emperor Haacobin, and of His Rightful Plenipotentiary, the Duke of the Sovereign State of Brandenbrass, and his Cabinet: how say you?'
'Ah-aye,' Rossamund answered, understanding the intent of the question, if not the actual words. With that said, and monies paid from his own purse so as not to break the newly writ twenty-sou bill, he was back out on the steps of the grand knavery above the clatter and bustle, feeling not a little relieved that his first clerical duty as factotum was completed. By the light of the westering sun, Rossamund returned via takeny-coach to Brandenbrass' substantial suburbs, restored at last to the starkly glorious bosom of Cloche Arde after a long day in town.
Many hours earlier he had been deposited by Carp at the Dogget amp; Block alehouse, where, over a lunch of griddled scringings and tots of ol' touchy, Craumpalin had insisted he knew a better supplier of parts than Perseverance Finest.
