"Factotum" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cornish D M)

THE GATHEPHAR

His listeners just blinked at him expectantly.

"Mister Numps! Unhurt, coming willingly through the butchery. Hand in hand with a wee wizened thing by the name of Freckle, our glimner friend was wearing the most rapt expression I have ever known him to show; he could have been on a summerscale picnic for all he cared of the desperate melee about. Defended by many wizened bogles-glamgorns is their designation, I believe-this second party had won through to us, and together we fled down the Approach and on to the Harrowmath. Even with these kindly creatures' aid, it was only a sorry remnant of calendars, clerks and lighters that got free."

"Master Sparrow and his tiny friend are busy fellows," Europe observed.

Doctor Crispus went on. "By the stars I could see that we were being taken southeast across the Harrowmath, reaching the marshes of Old Man's Itch at dawn. Past this Cinnamon took us, even to the wooded foothills of the northern extents of the Sparrowdowns, where only commerce men and fools will go." Crispus wagged his head, clearly still astonished at the journey. "Our way was necessarily slow, four days carrying hurt souls by boggy paths. Threnody, through all her sharp looks and squalls of temper, proved herself an august's daughter, seeking all our welfare, making sure stragglers did not fall too far behind.We fed on bulbs pulled from the ground and washed with trickling marsh water, and the bogles tended all hurts with skill-I say to my shame- beyond my learning. As for Numps, I have never seen him appear in such ecstasy, such transports of delight; while we sagged in our weariness, he capered with glee, hugging and holding hands with Cinnamon and the one called Freckle."

Rossamund grinned broadly, easily conceiving the happy babble that the simple glimner would have chortled: My old old friends! Come to get me at last!

"Some folk were not so easy with such unterly company." Crispus let out a puff of air. "The calendars were perfectly at ease with monsters about them, yet several refugees lagged deliberately or slipped away at night to find their own way, ungrateful souls. Cinnamon did not prevent them, and I suppose I do not blame them-it is an altogether peculiar experience to be at a bogle's mercy. I certainly do not know what became of any of them." He paused a little ominously. "Finally, amid a great joyful flocking of sparrows and other small woodland birds swarming about us, we were met by the Duke of Sparrows-or so Dolours named him with surprising reverence-a lord of monsters, no less, direct from some spurious tome of legendry, as if monsters fighting monsters for the cause of men was not bamboozling enough!"

"You saw the sparrow-king!" Rossamund was astounded.

Fransitart and Craumpalin murmured in wonder.

Europe arched her diamond-spoored brow.

"Only from afar, my boy, only from afar," the physician answered. "He is, it seems, loath to be plainly viewed, but I could feel him, Rossamund, a profound and all-encompassing peace such as I have never known." A faint smile hovering on his lips, he closed his eyes. "Dolours was admitted to go farther but soon returned in much better weal than when she went in. Only Numps was let right up to the strange creature, and it soon became patent that he was to remain within its realm." Crispus looked to Rossamund. "Ahh, Rossamund, I do believe we can finally count him at peace. Our dear Mister Numps wished for me to tell you in coram-face-to-face-that he is as well as he could ever wish to be, safe now with his old, old friends, as he seemed inclined to name the Duke of Sparrows and Cinnamon. Safe now and forevermore, he made sure to have me tell you as his new old friend that he is home at last!"

Rossamund blinked rapidly. "Aye, Doctor… He is surely in the best hands now."

"It was a sore trial to leave that embracing calm, but more a human realm was best for us. With the glamgorn Freckle to help, the Lady Dolours and Threnody and their sisters saw the remaining hurt-now healing well-and myself safe to High Vesting. After this they departed again for their own clave-hall. Having set up the wounded at the local sanguinarium, I proceeded to charter the promptest packet out from that harbor and proceeded to you as quickly as I could."

"A remarkable tale, Doctor," said Europe. "It seems the season for adventure. Since you are now without a home, you may stay here for as long as is convenient."

Stretched thin and jaded, the physician looked for a moment as if he were about to burst into tears of gratitude. "Well, gracious madam, I must get to Mister Sebastipole now-bring him report of Numps as well."

"Nonsense, man," the fulgar retorted. "You are in no humor for further travel. Write him a letter as you need, but for now, remain. Think of it as recompense for the diligent care you took of Rossamund while he served with the lighters," she ended a little more kindly.

Protesting his wish not to be a burden, the physician finally accepted. "Well-well, I thank you… Oh," he went on, "and Threnody sends you word, Rossamund. If she had had pen and paper, she would have writ something, but she asked me to convey… Now, what was it…" He pressed a knuckle to his lips. "Ah! That she hopes her words have not caused you too much harm and that she is glad you have got away clean with the Branden Rose."

"Got away clean indeed," Europe snorted quietly.

Rossamund frowned at his mistress, grateful nevertheless to have news of the fractious girl lighter.

"What became of the Master-of-Clerks, do you think, Doctor?" he asked.

"The manse was wreathed in flame when last I saw it from across the sodden meadow. Few others fled after us-mostly the larger of our nicker allies fighting what appeared to be a rear-guard action. I cannot think he survived, nor Pile with him."

So the Master-of-Clerks had been served justice at last. The monsters had acted where men could or would not. "No more gudgeon-making there," Rossamund murmured.

Doctor Crispus smiled mirthlessly as he sagged in his seat. "No, not in the manse's cellars, at least…"

"What will 'appen now, d'ye reckon?" came Fransitart's query.

The good doctor put a weary hand to his face. "I heard that the landsaire encampment near Silvernook moved themselves in the small of the morning of the assault and sought to retake the manse. Repulsed bloodily at the gates, they were unable to win inside and fell back in disarray." He sighed heavily and pressed a finger against his lips. "I little expect that the empire of man will allow monsters to remain in its precincts unchallenged. An army will be mustered and sent, of that you can be sure."

"Indeed," Europe inserted. "The Archduke might find a different use for his conquering regiments this summer." After treacle and breakfast and letting Darter Brown outside to do those tasks it is a sparrow's part to do, the duties of the first day back in Brandenbrass began in Europe's file. Letters were waiting for them, a veritable bale of missives and communications collected over the time of their absence.

Only two were for Rossamund, one thick, one thin.

Sitting on a tandem by the unlit hearth, Europe taking up a seat opposite, he broke the letter's red sealing ribbon. Clearly from Verline, it was dated the 17th of Unxis-the very day he and Europe and his old masters had been ambushed-and it read as follows: My beloved stout-hearted Rossamund, What fright I had to read Master Fransitart's telling of your speedy exit from Winstermill Manse.What salve to know you are all well, though I do not know what to make of your succor at the care of that frightful Europa lady. She is a peer, however, so it cannot all be bad. Master F declares he feels you shall remain safe with her for the time, and I hope he may finally have some chance to rest his trickety leg.

I too have some news for you. From the time darling Masters Fransitart and Craumpalin left to come to you, Old Carp and Master Barthomaeus employed the services of a snugman. This fellow, whom I greeted but once-a rather alarming meeting-proved his large fee and found Gosling down in Proud Sulking. Horribly wounded, the lost soul was laid in a subscription infirmary, and would not say how he came by such hurts. Either hand, under right of bounty, Gosling was brought straight back to Boschenberg and has only just now stood before the judges' bench. Their honors pronounced him guilty of (I think I am penning it rightly) interitus causim incension, which Master Barthomaeus informs me is "arsony occasioning death." He says that Gosling was fortunate not to suffer caedes ad incendium (or "murder by fire"-why they do not speak plain, I do not know). Because Gosling is so young, he is to be spared the noose, and is sentenced a convict to serve in the colonial quarries in Euclasia.

I went to him three times in the Lock, bringing food with me. The first he screamed and flailed at the door and tried to reach at me through the small holes in it. I was quite safe; the coston would never allow him near me. The second visit Gosling was quiet. I went in to him, but he simply stared at the wall with those uncommon black eyes. On the third he would not see me, though the goodly sergeant-coston let me take a look at him through the peep. I know all the wickedness he has done, yet still I cannot but feel sorry for him. Oh, if only you could have seen him as I did, Rossamund, you might well share the same tenderness.

At this point Rossamund stopped reading, eyes burning and milt colliding with a thousand unnameable emotions. Collecting himself and wiping his nose angrily on his sleeve, he pressed on:

For now you can be at ease that after the terrible fire at the old foundlingery the children are all as best as can be done for. Most we have founded in better homes, some went to prentice early, and all's that's left of the littlest my most admirable sister and I have taken in for good under our own arm.

"My, my, rumor has spread to my mother at last," the fulgar said, interrupting Rossamund's reading as she pored over a letter of her own. "She deplores my use of QGU in so squanderous a manner, of course…" She studied the missive some more. "The dear has never approved of my path-my violent irresponsible cavortings-and now she has heard of my taking up with sedorners… Shall I bring the whole history of fair names to infamy? she asks. A half truth is better than a whole lie." She put the communication aside with a long-suffering sigh and took up another.

Rossamund went back to his letter.

Far happier news is that now all legals have been settled, it turns that Madam Opera did leave the sum of her small wealth and worldly consequence to both Old Carp and me. Can you believe it! With it comes the marine society contract, which makes it now my right to set up the foundlingery again. My dear, dear brother-in-law has so taken to the littlest that Praeline and I still care for in our home that he has agreed to buy an enormous old manor-burg on the Tuinwig, in Primvild-of all the best places!-and Praeline will assist me as mistress into the bargain. Can you believe this either, heart of my heart? I shall be a marine society proprietress! Carp and Barthom?us will be our starting masters, and I have sent to the Navy Board, who have willingly consented to continue with us and sponsor more salty old darlings like the two dears with you now to serve out better days here. Dear Masters Fransitart and Crowmpalin will always have a place here should ever they want an end to their adventuring days-I have written them so. I almost dare to believe that, with the money Praeline's husband is granting, the foundlingery might be better than before.

Providence ever turns bad to the good, if you have eyes to see it.

My blessings to you. Write to me so that I might know how you fare.Your previous letter was so short it troubles me so. Forever and always your P.S. I have written of the same things to Masters F and C, so you do not need to pass this on to them.

It was signed with the flourish of a soul very much in a transport of happiness.

Blinking back bitter tears, Rossamund read a second time, hastening over the tale of Gosling's downfall, relishing the prospect of a new and certainly better foundlingery.

There was also a short communication from Sebastipole. It was dated more than two weeks gone-well before the fall of Winstermill-and it read as follows: Rossamund, I do not have time to write more than the briefest missive to convey to you my satisfaction upon the report that you have won free from the misuses of the Master-of-Clerks and are under the much vaunted care of so eminent a teratologist. With her you are most certainly safe.

Here in the Considine the marshal continues his fight against false testimony, baseless accusation and the sluggish obstinacy of Imperial bureaucracy. Strange accounts come to us of the Surgeon Swill, that he makes a show of himself in Brandenbrass with a list of outrageous claims. I hope he has not caused you any discomfort. He might be dazzling the Branden court with his wild proclamations, but here in the sub-capital, report of such a carry on has only harmed his reputation-and those associated with him, and does our cause good. Thus encouraged, we go on until we prevail.

I must cease, for we have just now been summoned to yet another review of informal inquiry. Of Discipline and Limb, Lamplighter's Agent amp;c The Considine

"Ah, excellent…," Europe said eventually with feline satisfaction, rousing her factotum from his concentration once more. She lifted a wad of papers that had been a part of the mail-a large stack of pamphlets. "These should interest you," she said, reading one briefly before laying them with a flop on the seat beside him. Most obvious was an edition of the Defamiere, and with it Quack!, The Mordant Mercer, The Viper, Wasp and several more-every one a scandal or low-toned pamphlet, and all the latest issue. Topmost was a list in Mister Carp's hand showing the name of each publication and beside each, page numbers.

"Miss Europe?" Rossamund marveled, folding both missives neatly to put them safe in his inside weskit pocket where their words might be close to his soul.

"I have not lowered my tastes, if that is what you are thinking," she said flatly, fixing him with a pointed look. "Turn to each of those pages and read… A most excellent retort," she concluded with a contented half smile.

Doing as he was bidden, Rossamund discovered in every pamphlet an article without title, featured near the front of the paper-usually the fifth page. The Duchess-in-waiting of Naimes wishes to refute previous claims held in other papers of low repute that she improperly exercised her born right of QGU in the defense of one of lower station against the designs of greater men bent on infamy. Her accusers have since sought to denounce her publicly for such an honest service with implications of the basest sort, which can only be seen as regrettable and a symptom of their own villainy. Their intention base and self-interested gain, they embroil themselves most wholly and most treacherously with the darkest of all trades.Through the artifice of their own cunning they have eluded the just reach of Imperial Notice. We are now honor-bound to expose these dastards as base traitors. We properly await a swift righting of this great wrong.

"It seems I am not without my defenders," Europe said archly. "A rigorous counter-offend to their radix," she added, Rossamund well recognizing terms of the Hundred Rules. "Thank you, Mister Finance…" Laying a bundle of papers down, she gave her young factotum an astute look. "Rossamund… Monsiere Trottinott has inspired me," she said suddenly. "I am going to hold a grand gala, and not a simple silk rout, but a sortire I'travesty-a come-as-you-fancy ball."

Come-as-you-fancy? The young factotum regarded her in blinking bafflement. Where folks dress up as kings or heldins or fabulous creatures or any other fancy notion? "I thought you held galas and fetes and routs and all to be interminably dreary," he said.

The Branden Rose blinked at him. "They are, exceedingly so… unless someone of genuine refinement holds them. Ours shall be especially grand, in honor of my successful coursing venture."

"But the knave wasn't a success," Rossamund thoughtlessly returned.

Europe became rather still, fixing him with a withering expression. "Was it not…," she said in wintry tones. "My guests will not know that, will they?"

Bobbing his head, her factotum conceded. "No, they would not… What of Pater Maupin?" he dared, speaking with slow caution.

Europe's eyes twinkled with occult thoughts. "He may wait" was all she said.

Rossamund frowned.

"You, my sour factotum, I charge with the task of preparing its food and decoration. Do not goggle, Rossamund! Kitchen and Clossette will be your aides, of course, and I am sure Doctor Crispus and even your old masters could lend their capabilities in help." She smiled a sly smile. "As for myself, I shall take charge over the night's entertainments."

Taking a deep breath, he asked, "When will it be?"

"Midwich, the 20th of this month" was the quick reply.

Rossamund did a hasty calculation of the time he had to accomplish impossibility.

A week from today!