Stepping regular at the rear of the file, Rossamund was grateful to leave the closeness of the Hall of Pageants, which was almost toxic with the exhalations of a crowd and the heavy musk of monster. Breathing deeply of the clean frosty night, he resolved never to see another puncting as long as his days had span.
Dismissed, Rossamund hurried with the other prentices past the Dead Patch, some of them distracted by a collection of lighters, pediteers and laborers gathering around a tree by the lamp at the top of the Postern Stair.
Threnody pulled at his arm, their earlier conflict clearly forgotten. "Come," she said as she dragged him toward the inquisitive group.
Rossamund resisted. "It'll be douse-lamps any minute. We have to go to our cells."
"By the dove's wings! Something interesting in this regulation-strangled den of boredom and you want to go night-nights?" She yanked at his sleeve and pulled him over to the tree. This trunk was a common place for public messages to be fixed, and against the tatters of older bills, rotten and moldy and mostly illegible, a large new bill had been posted. Taking the risk of being late, Rossamund squeezed between the lampsmen and pediteers and their muttered complaints and stood with Threnody before the proclamation. It read:
"Elsegood brought this'un up from the Nook," said Assimus to his colleague and the world in general. "Bills just like this here one are all about the Sulk End and the Idlewild, he says, even down in Winstermill and maybe over the Gizzard in Brandenbrass and Fayelillian and even down in Doggenbrass."
"Aye," coughed an old corporal-of-musketeers, "inviting all manner of violent, adventurous foringers to the manse-to our home." The man looked the type to consider anyone not from Winstermill a "foringer."
"There's another one of these just been handed about the officers' mess," growled a haubardier. "We can handle the baskets. Don't need no outside hesistance, thanks all the same. The Marshal'll keep it all in hand."
"So ye say, Turbidius," countered the corporal, "but ye have to give that it's been a cram-full of theroscades unchecked these last couple o' years, particularly this year, and most particularly this winter.The Marshal ain't kept that all in hand-it be his name on the bill, bain't it? He's the one admitting to needing help."
Assimus ground his teeth. "And if ye was buried under a mountain of paper and chits such as our Lamplighter-Marshal be these few years, then I beg to suggest ye might be needing some help too!"
Rossamund was, more than anything, boggled at the idea of the manse full of teratologists in all their weird gaudery. As people moved on to their business, a notion dawned on him. Maybe Europe will be coming? Reading the bill closely, he did not doubt that her "thew" would be sturdy enough, though he wondered if her "repute" might be fine enough. She would have been finished in Sinster by now, surely. The thought of her returning into his life made Rossamund feel strange. He was apprehensive yet oddly hopeful.
"I don't know why the Emperor don't send us some more lighters from them kinder highroads like what's down in the Patricine-like the Conduit Axium or the Bridle," continued the corporal.
"Aye, or reinforce us with a battalion o' musketeers or such," some other voice put in. "He's got more'n enough to spare with all his armies up in the Seat and down in the Alternats."
"Aye, well, the Emperor's too busy using them same musketeers to fight with our hereward neighbors and has none to spare us in our troubles."
Rossamund had some notion of the wars being fought to the west of the Empire with the princes of Sebastian and the landgraves of Stanislaus and Wencleslaus. This was an age-old struggle with the sedorner-kings that lived just beyond the grasp of the Haacobin Dynasty, accused of traffic with the monsters and worthy of annihilation. Centuries had gone and still these realms had refused to be subdued.
"Ye'd think our most Serene Highness might reckon it more important to fight the nickers nigh on his doorstep," that other voice put in.
"Aye, and ye'd think it wouldn't be much use conquerin' some other folks for loving the nickers when your own home is overrun with 'em!" the corporal concluded. "Don't he know how tough we've got it?"
With a corporate grumble of agreement people retired for the night.
"Listen to them mew about how hard it has been! What do they know?" Threnody growled as the crowd thinned. "My sisters have been stretched to exhaustion for years defending the people. These grot-headed lightermen don't know to recognize an ally when they've got one!"
Close by a sparrow flitted through the dark from one withered conifer to the next, disappearing into the foliage to twitter from its covert. With a last sharp tweet, it burst out and dashed away, followed by its mate, going southeast up across the roofs of the Low Gutter to disappear over the wall.
"Those things are uncommonly active of a nighttime," Threnody remarked. "Maybe they're watchers for the Duke of Sparrows…"
Rossamund started. How does she know of the Duke of Sparrows? He turned to stare where the bird had flown to hide his surprise. Were they truly being watched? "How can you know that?" he asked.
"I have heard Dolours say an urchin-lord dwells in the Sparrow Downs," the girl said smugly, clearly pleased to get a reaction out of him. "The Duke of Sparrows, who she says watches over things and keeps other bogles at bay."
"What would the Duke of Sparrows have to watch in here?" Rossamund marveled aloud, his sense of the lay of things shifting profoundly.
"Who can know?" Threnody replied dismissively. "We can't even be certain such a creature exists. Oh, never-you-mind, lamp boy. Dolours is often quietly telling me things like that: enough to make some people cry Sedorner!" She finished with an untoward shout.
Rossamund looked about in fright.
"But I'm not one of those mindless folk," Threnody concluded, "whatever Mother might insist."
"Is that why Dolours did not kill the Trought?" Rossamund said in the smallest whisper.
With a start, Threnody stared at him. "What do you mean, lamp boy?" she demanded.
"I-I would have reckoned she could slay it with one thought, but she just seemed to drive it away-"
"How would you know what the Lady Dolours can and can't do?" Threnody stood tall and arrogant.
"Well-I-"
"Bookchild! Vey!" demanded Benedict from the step of the Sally. "Inside at the double! Get to confinations afore the lamplighter-sergeant sees you!"
I hope the Duke of Sparrows does exist, thought Rossamund as he obeyed the under-sergeant. The notion of a benevolent monster-lord out there seeking to help humans and not harm them was almost too good to be possible.