was near them.
'Aye,' Craumpalin answered softly. 'We wanted to give thee every chance at success.'
'Perchance locking him in a chest and hiding it in the buttery might have served better,' Europe murmured.
'But why did you not tell me before, Master Fransitart?' Rossamund persisted, heedless of his mistress' ironies. 'Surely I could have avoided dangers better if I had known who-what-who I really am.'
'Hear, hear,' murmured Europe, attending them in perfect stillness. 'Why not indeed…'
For a beat there was a painful silence.
Fransitart beheld his former charge, regret clear in his eyes. 'We…,' he croaked. 'What would we tell ye, my boy? How do we tell ye? Of what dare we say? 'Why, Rossamund, did ye know ye was handed up to us by a bogle who claimed ye to be monstrous-born?' Would ye believe me? Who would?The less spoke on it, the less folks to know, and the less heavy going we make of it.'
'You-,' Rossamund started, but what could he say? Who would believe such outrageous stuff? He looked at his hand, to see that it was still real, that he was still he, and found that it was shaking uncontrollably.
'Thee has to fathom, Rossamund,' Craumpalin said, coming to his old mate's aid, 'that if we ever spoke on it, such a calumn'ous revelation would only have thee ever worrying to thy back to see who might discover thy terrible secret.'
Swill's witness he could discount: that his arrival in this world had never put a woman abed, that instead he had emerged fully knit from the boggy sump of some threwdish haunt, the mud-born replica of a poor bewildered and long-fallen child… This he could dismiss, but not the evidence of his dear masters. Suddenly Freckle's words, spoken so long ago in the putrid hold of the listing Hogshead, rose unbidden… The time might come for knowing things, the glamgorn had said, and when the need of knowing's nigh, you'll know then what I do now… 'I fathom it, Master Pin,' Rossamund murmured. 'I fathom it…'
Europe's penetrating hazel gaze lingered on Rossamund. 'It seems remarkable to me that some diminutive bogle made it right into the heart of your city,' she said at last, 'managing such a feat of utter invisibility to get over walls and elude every dog and gate ward.'
'Size ain't no reckoning of potency, ma'am.' It was Craumpalin who answered. 'The antiquarians have it that such feats are not beyond the mighty ones and that some of the leastly baskets in stature can be mightiest of them all.'
'You run it close to a sedorner's prating, Master Salt,' the fulgar said warningly. 'I can see from where you inherited your dangerous notions, little man.' She peered now at Rossamund, her expression guarded, her thoughts opaque.
He held her gaze, wanting to say something about truth and knowing and doing right, yet nothing sensible formulated rapidly enough to speak.
The fulgar let out a long tired breath. 'It might be said that worm-riddled texts with notions as crumbling as their spines and superstitious navy-men long past their prime do not make for trusty sources any more than a book- learned butcher with a grudge to grind. Let me, however, for Rossamund's sake, presume this is possible,' she said with a sidelong look to the ex-dormitory master. 'I would think such fantastic claims required tangible proofs.'
'If that is how ye will have it,' Fransitart countered with sailorly bluntness, his jaw jutting and firm-set, looking first to Europe, then to Rossamund, 'there will be proof a-plenty in nigh on a seven-night paired. This mark here will show itself as cruorpunxis or braggart's scab and end all argumentations!' He gripped at where the bandaged puncting had been made: that terrible experiment he and Rossamund had submitted to at the hands of the surgeon Swill.
'A seven-night paired, indeed, man,' Europe said, raising a brow. 'Such delightful argot: I gather you mean a fortnight?'
'Aye, madam. In a twin o' weeks all wranglings will end.'
Rossamund slouched in his seat as grim certainty established itself.
Europe might require such tangible proofs, yet he already fathomed which way the mark-made from his very own blood-would turn: that in two weeks less two days the puncting made with his own blood on Fransitart's arm would show as a cruorpunxis, a monster-blood tattoo.
3
Man-of-business one who acts partly as lawyer, computer, counterman, broker, manager, representative, secretary and clerk. They are either hired in their hundreds by the great mercantile firms or work individually for select, well-paying clientele, those with kinder souls representing the less shrewd in the maddening world of bureaucracy. In practice these fellows can range from the most sedentary quill-licks to the keenest, most ruthless minds of the day.
In somber silence the meal was soon concluded. After a sip of claret, Europe stood and declared, 'Time for parting ways, Rossamund.You have tasks to attend.'
Confusedly, he gave an affirming bob. But… he wanted to say, what of all this! I'm likely a monster yet you still keep me? Why not have me dead and another cross puncted on your arm? 'They-they are not staying here?' was what actually came out of his mouth.
'Thank'ee, m'lady,' Fransitart inserted quickly, Craumpalin joining him in a bow. 'We had thought to shift for ourselves. We have a longtime mate to look in on an' need not be a trouble to ye. We'd best get to it before the day is out…'
'Good for you, sirs,' Europe returned evenly. 'Shift as you will.' Then, instructing Rossamund to join her in her file, she left the three to their goodbyes.
'Where will you go?' Rossamund suddenly did not want to be parted from these best of men.
'We'll lay along to the Dogget amp; Block,' Fransitart answered, a kindly light in his soulful eyes. 'It's an alehouse an' hostelry some ways from here, just off Little Five Points on the Tailor's Wigh. The proprietor once served with us aboard the Hammerer.'
'Ahh, Casimir Fauchs-fine fellow,' Craumpalin seemed to say to himself. 'Our cloud's silvery trimming. Come and visit us when thee is able, Rossamund.'
Despite the ponderous import of their revelations, relieved of their burden at last the two fellows were clearly lighter of soul.
'We'll send ye word when we are settled ourselves,' Fransitart offered. 'An' ye must send for us whene'er ye need. I can't think yer mistress will keep ye cooped in this… place all of yer days.' He looked sidelong at the ponderously opulent room. 'Watch how ye come on; no need giving away suspicions with carelessness.'
'And keep to dousing in me Exstinker for now,' Craumpalin added intently. 'I shall make thee something new to better hide thee.'
With that they departed, out into the clearing afternoon.
'Hold fast, Rossamund,' Fransitart called gruffly from the window of Europe's own day coach. 'We'll see ye through yet.'
Waving farewell, Rossamund watched them out of the gates and across the bridge. He remained until the sound of them was lost in the drone of city life, alone on the steps of the house of the Branden Rose. For the rest of the afternoon he was introduced to his tasks as factotum: the making of Cathar's Treacle-of course-and other necessary draughts, and with this the continual inventory and replenishing of all parts and scripts; the oiling and storage of the fulgaris-fuse and stage; the finding of knaving work; and fetch, carry and all other singular labors urgent or petty to which his mistress turned her mind. He was presented formally to the two divisions of servants: her retainers, with Mister Kitchen as their chief and of whom Rossamund was in principle a part, and the house
