Strange feelings boiled within Rossamund's bosom, but most of all, with her there he felt truly safe. Without thinking, he leaped from the bed where he had been sitting and flung his arms about the fulgar.
Startled, she relented for a moment, hands placed lightly on his shoulders, but Rossamund could feel her gathering discomfort and, shamefaced and awkward, he let her go.
"I–I am glad you are safe," he stammered, feeling small and stupid. He sat back on the cot.
Europe nodded. "I know how funny you can get about a monster's dying," she continued circumspectly, "so you may or may not be glad to hear that I have found and slain every hob-thrush, botcher or gnasher I could."
She was right: Rossamund did not feel any better for the news.
"That old eeker-woman, Mother Lieger, even helped me-if you can credit that." Europe pulled a wry face. "I must give part of my success to her guidance: she knew very well where the baskets might be hiding at-and a girl will never refuse aid however it might come. Here is me all along believing these foolish eeker-folk were in love with the nickers. Indeed, she even asked me to send you her greetings, and tell you that she declares it a 'terrible wicked thing to have happened.' " She sighed a deep, heartfelt sigh. "Now the folk of Bleak Lynche want to fete me, and the house-major wants to cite my deeds for some kind of Imperial commendation… I refused them both, of course."
Rossamund nodded sadly. "They wanted to give me a mark, but I refused them too."
Europe let out a small laugh. "Of course you did." She sat on the edge of the bed. "By-the-by, I saw your glamgorn friend. It was loitering out there near the edges of the town and keeping downwind of the dogs."
"You didn't do anything to him, did you?" Rossamund sat up sharply.
"I cannot quite believe I am saying this but, no, I let the wretched thing be. I had little choice, actually." She folded her hands in her lap. "Once it knew I was about, it left rather smartly."
Rossamund lay back. "I feel so tired, Miss Europe. I don't know why, but I cannot seem to raise much eagerness for anything."
"I can tell you why, Rossamund." Europe looked at him appraisingly. "You have stood victorious in a desperate stouche. Dark moods always follow. Your potential as a factotum increases almost every time I see you. Dear Licurius, in all his might, may well have struggled where you have won."
"But all I did was survive!"
"I don't think you comprehend what you have done." Europe leaned toward him. "A wit, even a clumsy, new-cut one, should be able to win through a pack of monsters, else what would be the point of all the pain and inconvenience? But you, an ordinary little man, have not just won through, but-from what I hear-beaten to death three nickers, full-formed and ancient."
Rossamund hung his head. "I was not counting."
"No," the fulgar said, fixing him with serious eye, "but others are." The reply from the Marshal-Subrogat arrived two weeks after that horrid Dirgetide day. It declared tersely that the circumstances of the sacking of Wormstool were too unusual for the limited jurisdiction of the ignoble end of the road. It demanded that Rossamund and Threnody leave immediately on the return post, strangely omitting to summon Under-Sergeant Poesides or Aubergene or Crescens Hugh the lurksman. They had not been witnesses to the fall of the cothouse and were to stay and serve at Bleakhall until further directed from Winstermill. Having stated this in the firmest terms, the dispatch went on to deny any immediate relief to the beleaguered lighters of Bleakhall. The Master-of-Clerks did not see the wisdom in rushing men into the fray when he knew so little of the current situation.
Under the escort of one of the scrutineers who had seen the aftermath, the two young lighters were to be on their way, messengers of the tragedy and bearers of a second urgent request for reinforcement.
Though Rossamund knew Europe had gone again, hunting somewhere out on the flat with her hired lurksman, he nevertheless looked out for her in hope, even up to the moment of departure. Before boarding the return post, the young lighter left a desperate scrawl for her with Goodwife Inchabald, a plea for the fulgar to follow after him to Winstermill. It was a lot to ask, but he was about to return to the den of that black habilist Swill, and the Branden Rose was the only one who he felt could protect him anymore.
In somber silence, the post-lentum left for the Idlewild proper, farewelled by only Aubergene, sadly waving, and a silent Poesides. Not sparing of the horses, it hurtled west. What little was left of their belongings Rossamund and Threnody now carried with them in the cabin. All the rest was charred to smithereens in the burning and collapse of his old billet-including, to Rossamund's great woe, his peregrinat and the remarkable valise given him by Madam Opera.
Out of exhaustion and an unbearable gloominess at his enforced retreat to the manse, Rossamund slept much of the journey. The return became a bizarre blur of unhappy, cataclysmic dreams; hurrying landscape glimpsed from the thin slot allowed between sash and door frame; strange, anxious faces at whatever stop they made; and tasteless meals he had no appetite to stomach. Threnody too sat in silent grieving, seemingly diminished without her fine furs and traveling bags.
Rossamund lost the reckoning of time. All seemed dark to him, whether day or night; he could have well done with House-Major Grystle's hack-watch now. Consequently he was unable to share in the wonder of their escort, who stated that they had achieved Winstermill in a record four days-rather than six-and "that done at the end of the bad traveling season and all!" Four days, six days, ten days, twelve-this was no relief to the young lighter. He had once gloried that he had escaped the oppressive, now-corrupted place, yet here he was, returning to the manse after only two and a half short, violently terminated months.
Now he feared he might never be allowed to leave this den of massacars again.
Their arrival at Winstermill went unheralded, and from the coach yard they were met by Under-Clerk Fleugh and hurried directly through the manse to wait with their escort in the Marshal-Subrogat's anteroom.
"No happy welcomes for us, I see," Threnody muttered as they were let through to the Ad Lineam, the hall-like gallery of tall, many-mullioned windows that took them to the Master-of-Clerks' file, their feet slapping thump thump thump as they were hastened along.
As if there was some kind of criminal inconsistency to be found in their accounts, Podious Whympre saw fit to meet with each of them separately. The Bleakhall escort was interviewed first; this was a long meeting that gave the two young lighters time to catch a breath as they sat under the impassive gaze of a foot-guard.
"What do you think will happen?" Threnody wondered quietly.
"I don't know."
"What more can Odious Podious want to know?" she persisted.
"I don't care."
"Hmph." Threnody folded her arms and leaned back as best she might in the high-backed chair.
Their escort reemerged looking harassed and disappointed.
Threnody was called for next.
"Do well," Rossamund offered. The encouragement sounded weak in his own ears.
"And you," she returned with a dazzling smile, and disappeared through the portentous door.
Finally, as the sun westered, shedding gold on the west-facing angles of the mess-hall window frames, Rossamund was shocked from his doze by a summons. His time with the clerk-master at last. As he was let through to Podious Whympre's file, he could hear the tail of the previous interview.
"In such startling and tragic circumstances," came the Master-of-Clerks' smooth voice, "I have taken the liberty of sending for your mother."
"I do not want her here!" Threnody objected.
"But she is here already," Whympre returned evenly. "I shall have my man take you to her immediately. Ah, Master Bookchild, our little teratologist! It would appear you have an unfortunate aptitude for being right in the thick of troubles." The Master-of-Clerks glowered at him almost as soon as Rossamund entered the narrow, unfriendly room. "Thank you, Lady Threnody. That will be all."