hardheadedness,' she said, without opening her eyes.
'She always has,' Finance returned tautly. 'Though perhaps not as high as she does now…,' he added, looking reprovingly to Rossamund once more. Your fault! was writ clear on his dial.
Finally, the port sprang open and the examining transmogrifer emerged.
'Please,' he offered somberly, bowing to Madigan, then beholding Finance and Rossamund in turn. 'Return.'
Upon the sole infirmary bed, Europe lay, pale and drawn, her breaths coming in shallow gasps, staring at the ceiling as if consumed by her struggle. Hands and face cleansed in part of stains and Maupin-dust, and her proofing folded upon a chair beside the bed, she looked much as he remembered her lying so terribly wounded in the downy cot at the Hare-foot Dig so long ago.
'M-miss Europe…?' Rossamund said as he approached.
The dread fulgar turned her head and blessed him with an ailing smile. 'Oberon s-says I m-may yet live to… to fight on…,' she said, her tone bemusingly sardonic in one so hurt.
Scarce reckoning it possible, Rossamund felt his soul give an ecstatic leap.
'Ah-hah!' Finance uttered in relieved delight. 'Well done, sir!'
Oberon coughed with ever-so-subtle annoyance. 'Well, yes, you ought to, good madam,' he said first to Europe, then regarding his other guests continued matter-of-factly. 'Yet, before we run away with our gladness, as good as my ministrations have been, time is in the pinch and our continued alacrity essential. For, as I was just concluding to our lady, she-only so soon come back from Sinster-will need to return there with all haste if she is to survive such a mis-use of her memetic tissues.'
Rossamund's innards dropped at the mention of this infamous city where lahzars are made, full to its ridge- caps with massacars and bloodthirstily curious investigators. Hopes so quickly restored were complicated once again.
'T-twice to Sinster in one year is not an… i-ideal record, I suppose,' Europe added mildly.
'Indeed it is not, m'lady,' Oberon returned with all the gravity of a schooling master.
We barely survived Brandenbrass, Rossamund mar veled inwardly. How could we prevail in a place crammed with massacars and monster-fossicking transmogrifers? One rumor of me and we will be done for! Yet, with all these caring folk bustling and hovering about Europe's sickbed, this was no place to say so.
A long case clock in the vestibule struck six times.
'The first of the day's quick boats will be setting out soon,' Finance declared with revived hope in his voice. 'I shall go immediately and secure you your own vessel, dear duchess-daughter.'
'And, if you will, sister, Threedice and I shall join you on your quick boat as you hurry off to Sinster,' proclaimed the Lady Madigan.
Proving his intent, the Baron Finance dashed off in his park drag for the commutation docks of Middle Ground. While a message was dispatched to Kitchen to send luggage-a day-bag and linen package for the immediate journey-forthwith to the docks, with a trunk to follow on the next available passage-Oberon's simple carriage was brought to the front of the house.
Before Rossamund could catch a settled thought, he was working with the house staff to carry his mistress out to the plain black fit and they were on their way once more. The Lady Madigan and Threedice in their own carriage ahead, the young factotum and the Branden Rose rode alone, the fulgar propped on many cushions, half sitting, half lying along the whole backseat. For several suburbs neither looked at the other, but both stared at the steady passing of gray, shadowy streets, Rossamund scarcely remarking the fleeting sights or the growing activity of the city's early risers or late finishers in his turmoil. From the corner of sight he became aware that Europe was staring at him, could feel her observation like burning in his conscience. Still he would not look at her, for to look at her would be to admit a conclusion he did not want to admit.
'H-how fares your neck?' she asked, her tone mild.
Humours thumping down his neck, across his scalp, in his ears, he finally looked.
There she was, propped on the makeshift comfort of cushions, her face gray-ghastly, even-yet somehow queenly despite it all in this carriage taking them to Sinster; Sinster of hope, Sinster of dangers multiplied until all Rossamund could foresee was that he would be nabbed the very instant he touched foot to its docks.
He touched the thick bandage about his throat hiding the gash made by the bullet's path. 'It… I staunched it with a sicustrumn from Mister Oberon's saumery… between treacles,' he said, then added quickly, 'No one saw it.'
His mistress nodded slowly, eyes glittering with that same part-born envy she had beheld him with at Orchard Harriet. 'W-would that I might be so… robust…,' she returned.
Rossamund half grinned; he thought her very robust already. Thrice now he had seen her smashed and each time recover from the brink.The silence broken, he went to open his mouth and speak his mind at last, but balked at the very moment of revelation. It must be this way, he schooled himself, and took a breath. 'Miss Europe,' he began, a great tightening in his chest, 'I… I would sail with you across the Gurgis Main and back… but… but I cannot go with you to Sinster…'
The Branden Rose beheld him with serious and ponderous understanding. 'Nor,' she added carefully, 'c-can I keep you safe here while I am there…'
Rossamund held her bleared yet clearly searching gaze. The realm of everymen had nothing but danger to offer; the world of monsters could surely be no worse.
Without words, Europe knew his mind. 'I r-release you from my service, little m-man…,' she said, so softly he barely heard her. 'I release y-your masters, too-you may tell them for me.'
Rossamund blinked in amazement. Has the end come so quickly? 'I… I will,' he said.
She closed her eyes. 'You sh-should go… now… I w-will not stand long-drawn and m-maudlin goodbyes…'
A goodbye-most likely long-drawn and maudlin-was on his lips, yet, regardless of his mistress'-his former mistress'-distaste for it, he could not bring himself to say it. 'I will visit with you when I can,' he said instead, more in hope than certainty.
The Branden Rose chuckled grimly, then coughed over again with the strain of her mirth. 'Th-that, I think, w-would not be wise.'
'Aye…' Caught between a sob and a wry smile, Rossamund ducked his head.
'I–I have your portrait-that will be… enough.'
He looked up. She had found Pluto's portrait after all.
'Dear, per… perplexing Rossamund…' Europe touched him gently on the cheek and fixed him with a look of finally unveiled affection. 'Wh-who will you make s-such fine treacle for now…'
Careful of her wounds, he threw his arms about the mighty fulgar's neck and buried his face in her fine brown hair. 'Thank you!' he began, but his whole frame was rocked as tears burst their dams at last, tears of gratitude, tears of regret, tears of farewell.
The fulgar held him firmly in her slight arms. 'T-tish tosh…,' she whispered by his ear, her voice strangely thick.
The carriage slowed and Rossamund-factotum no longer, nor foundling, nor lamplighter-leaned to look out at the dawn spreading out like the proof of a promise behind the ponderous buildings of Brandenbrass. Looking down the way from which they had come, he was sure he could see a small mob of rabbits scurrying in shadows and keeping pace behind. Giving voice to an urgent tweet! Darter Brown sprang from the carriage to fly back toward these chasing beasts. As the carriage went carefully about a right-angle bend, he opened the door of the moving fit. 'Not all monsters are monsters,' Rossamund said in parting, surprised at his own resolve.
Europe beheld him keenly, as one wishing to fix a face in their memory. 'Yes,' she said. 'I know.'
Rossamund held her gaze for what was surely the last time, his eyes stinging as he tried to express through these agents alone all that he felt and admired and… dare he own, loved in this most terrible of women.
'And be sure to find yourself another hat, little man,' she added, the edge of her mouth twitching with mirth, nodding to Rossamund's crown, hatless and naked yet again.
'I shall,' Rossamund returned, and with that, leaped from the drag and landed squarely on his feet, startling red-coated limn-men dousing a line of red-posted curb lamps in the lessening gloom of the fresh day.
