Lamplighter by D M Cornish

Author:D M Cornish [D. M. Cornish]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: RHCP
Published: 2009-05-07T04:00:00+00:00

Grinning ear to ear, the splasher boy opened the door for them with a touch to the brim of his tall stovepipe hat. “We’ve done all right to get you here afore the daisy hay was done,” he said excitedly.

“Excuse me?” Threnody scowled. “The what was done?”

The splasher boy looked at her as if she were Jack Simple. “The daisy hay . . .” He grinned at Rossamünd as if he knew, but Rossamünd had not heard the term either. “It’s the right time of day for travel! Only lighters and fools go out after sundown – oh . . .” The splasher boy went bright red as he realised who he was talking to and quickly found other things to do.

“I see,” said Threnody.

As Rossamünd and Threnody alighted, another person was arriving on foot, let in by the small sally-port fixed in the heavy ironwood gate. The last gasp of a gust blew through the door, bringing with it a sweetly salty and familiar scent.

“Did you get your hob-gnasher, Madam Rose?” one of the gaters asked.

“That I did, Master File,” the newly arrived wayfarer declared briskly, and lifted a large leather satchel bulging with something lumpy and vaguely head-shaped. “And a might of trouble it gave me, too.”

It was Europe!

The Branden Rose was wearing her usual deep red fighting garb, and was muffled against the cold with the spangled-fur pollern. Three heavy-harnessed gaters attending bowed in quiet deference.

Threnody made to follow a porter and continue on through to the wayhouse, but stopped when she realised Rossamünd was just lingering and staring.

Eventually Europe turned, with narrowed eyes that went wide – just for a moment – then knowing. She swaggered over, an eyebrow cocked. “Well hello again, little man,” the fulgar said softly as she approached. “Have they finally let you out of Winstermill?”

“Hello, Miss Europe,” Rossamünd greeted cheerfully. “We’re on our way to our new billet.” Smiling at her, he saw that the fulgar’s eyes were badly bloodshot, an almost complete and ghastly red.

“Where is that?” Europe smiled tightly in return.

“Wormstool – what’s happened to your eyes, miss? They’re all red like a falseman’s.”

The woman’s brow furrowed. “It comes from a long day arcing. And what have you done to your head, little man? All bandage and no hat!”

“I lost it in a fight.”

The fulgar raised an amused eyebrow. “In a fight, was it? I cannot leave you for a moment. Well, at least you did not lose my gift,” she said, looking at his fine scarf. She turned a cool gaze to Threnody. “I see you have brought the august’s daughter with you.”

“I . . .” was yet forming in Rossamünd’s mouth when Threnody interjected.

“You’re the Branden Rose, aren’t you?” she asked, with a look of profound, barely contained excitement. Rossamünd had never seen her look quite so enthusiastic – it was odd.

“My name precedes me, I see,” said Europe, a subtle smirk fluttering at the corner of lip and eye.

“And you really do know him?” Threnody glanced at Rossamünd.

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