Free Lamplighter by D. M. Cornish

clearly calculated his answer, said sourly, “I might serve under him, young madam, yet I can tell you I have observed and performed things Doctor Crispus would not credit as possible. What the good doctor has spent a lifetime acquiring, I learned in months. So, to you, dear, I say ‘yes’ to your first inquiry, and ‘no’ to your second. This has become intolerable! If you want the best for your sister-in-arms, then I must be allowed to labor in quietude. Do me the service of leaving!”
    Spreading his thin arms, Swill went to usher them out of the surgery. To Rossamünd’s dismay, Threnody was clearly reluctant to depart and made to stand her ground. Swill balked at her stubborn immobility, and only after a foolish, pointless standoff did she allow herself to be guided out to the less gruesome side of the door. It closed with a deliberate thump.
    “Do you know much of this Grotius Swill fellow, lamp boy?” Threnody demanded.
    “He seems competent enough, miss. I think he is supposed to be under Doctor Crispus’ charge,” Rossamünd offered helpfully, ignoring the girl’s imperious tone. “I must confess I’ve never been ill enough to need either his or the doctor’s work.”
    Threnody looked less than satisfied. “He did not seem to be under anyone’s charge to me. He’d better do right: I made no idle threat in there.”
    Rossamünd was not in the smallest way impressed. “I ought to return you to your Lady Dolours,” he said simply.
    At the Lamplighter-Marshal’s duty room the smiling registry clerk Inkwill greeted them.
    “You’d best go in, m’lady.”
    Threnody entered into the mystery of the duty room, leaving Rossamünd without a word of thanks or farewell.
    “You might want to idle here, Prentice Bookchild,” suggested Inkwill kindly. “I think that young lass will be needing more guidance shortly.” This was an unwelcome hint, or so Rossamünd thought, that he and his fellows might have to put up with this pompous peerlet for a good sight longer.
    As he waited an unwelcome pressure built in his bladder, but Rossamünd dared not leave. Instead he paced the Forward Hall uncomfortably back and forth, pressure growing, until the door opened with a bang. Sergeant Grindrod emerged from the duty room looking grave. He nodded brusquely, said nothing and moved on. Soon after,Threnody stalked out, followed by Dolours and the Lamplighter-Marshal himself. “What say you, young fellow? We’re going to have a lady in our midst!”
    The Lamplighter-Marshal had clearly come to his decision. Threnody was to be the first girl prentice at Winstermill.

5

    THRENODY GOES FORTH
    fusil also known as a fusee or carabine or harquebus; a lighter musket with a shortened barrel that makes for simpler loading, is less cumbersome to swing about in thickets and woodland, and saves considerable weight. Its shorter length also makes it handy as a club when the fight comes to hand strokes. This makes the fusil a preferred weapon of ambuscadiers and other skirmishing foot soldiers, and also comes a-handy for the drilling of smaller folk in the handling and employment of arms.
     
     
    T HE morning did not improve after its irregular beginning. Rossamünd took Threnody to the Room of Records, where she gave all her particulars and was paid the Emperor’s Billion; the master proofener, where she received her two quabards—one full dress and one for continual day wear; the library, for her books on matter and drills and regulations; the armory, for her fusil and fodicar; and every other necessary place. Throughout, she showed nothing but arrogance and high-handed rudeness. She near drove the normally good-natured Inkwill to distraction with each painfully extracted detail for the register. She wrangled with the proofener’s yeomen over the constitution of regulation dress. She insulted the librarian over a matter book, insisting it was arrant drivel, that the books she had learned from back at Herbroulesse were far