The Lamplighter's Love (3 page)

Nicholas kept glancing up above the roofline
and then quickly away, something Mary had seen him do several times
since they ventured forth. She looked, but saw nothing of interest
up in the crystalline frost of the sky. But she could feel Nicholas
begin to breathe more rapidly, too rapidly, and when she looked
back toward him she was alarmed to see he was even paler. She
wouldn’t have thought it possible.

“Is everything all right? Is there something
up there?”

His voice as he replied held a frantic
undertone that was even more alarming than his appearance. “Ah,
yes, as a matter of fact. A truly daunting amount of sky. I think
it might be wise for me to duck inside for a bit. Here, perhaps?”
He stopped at the door to the bookshop and held it open for her.
Passing him, Mary could see his chest still rising and falling
quickly, and a pulse beating wildly in his neck.

“Sit there,” she directed him, pointing to
one of a handful of chairs in the corner of the musty but decidedly
cozy shop. “The owner’s a friend. I’ll see if he can spare you a
cup of tea.”

He seemed about to object, but then sank
into the chair with a rueful smile. “Thank you again, Mary. This
was . . . unexpected.”

“I think it’s perfectly understandable.
Stay, and I’ll bring you some books to look over. Mr. Beckett loves
a new customer.”

She left Nicholas and went in search of the
proprietor, an upstanding widower who usually kept a kettle on the
tiny stove in his home over the shop. Today, Mr. Beckett was
looking particularly festive in a red waistcoat, and his rapidly
graying beard had been laundered and brushed to a fine, puffy
salt-and-pepper cloud.

“The master girl! How are you, my dear?” He
came around the counter to greet Mary with a peck on each cheek,
just as he had since she first started patronizing the store as a
child. She’d been away from home, lonely and frightened, and
starved for fantasy. In Mr. Beckett, she’d found a sympathetic ear
and a never-ending list of recommended books. He looked just the
same today as he had when she was twelve, she noted.

Mary grinned, a typical reaction upon being
greeted by the indefatigably cheerful Mr. Beckett. “I’m splendid.
And I’ve brought you a new customer. Who could use a cup of tea, if
it’s not too much trouble? He’s a bit run down.”

The words “new customer” had predictable
results, prompting Mr. Beckett to send his young assistant
scrambling to crank his way upstairs in the tiny lift and fetch tea
and biscuits. Meanwhile the genial book purveyor approached
Nicholas with the open arms and broad smile of a born showman.

“Master Mary Cross’ friend! Welcome to
Beckett’s. Tea will be with us momentarily.”

“Master Morgan, Mister Beckett,” Mary said,
hoping to gloss over particulars in the introduction. Beckett,
however, was already eyeing Nicholas with a keen awareness that cut
straight through his convivial display.

“Master Nicholas Morgan? This is an honor
indeed. Perhaps I should have told Timothy to use the best
tea.”

“Anything hot will do, Mister Beckett,”
Nicholas assured him. Smiling wryly, he gestured up at the ceiling.
“As long as there’s a roof over my head for a few moments instead
of the infinity of the heavens.”

“I can well imagine, sir. Forgive me for
asking, but does the guild know you’re out here?”

Mary and Nicholas smiled at each other. She
broke away first, surprised to feel herself blushing.

“They do occasionally let me out of my
monkish cell,” Nicholas confirmed. “Although I confess it’s been
too long by far since I saw daylight. Or snow. Or . . . this many
people. This many strangers.” He glanced toward the window,
marveling at the bustling crowds visible beyond the thick panes of
glass. And then he looked back at Mary with a smile that suggested
the sight of her was a comfort.

Beckett looked from the Lamplighter to Mary,
a speculative glimmer in his eye. But he let the moment pass and
rose with a decisive air. “Can I point you in the direction of a
book today, sir? Some poetry, perhaps? Or a tome of British
history? We also have a fine selection of technical manuals, in
deference to our near neighbors at the Lampworks.”

“Nothing so serious, I think.”

“A ripping tale of piracy then? Or a good
penny dreadful? Might be just the thing to help you relax after a
long day of, er . . . whatever it is you actually
do
down
there.”

Within seconds, it seemed, Mary and Nicholas
had a stack of books to peruse, and cups of steaming tea brewed to
a blistering strength and sweetened heavily, as Mr. Beckett said,
to counter the possibility of shock.

The Lamplighter—who obviously did have a
good deal more pocket money than Mary had ever dreamed—ended up
purchasing three novels, much to the delight of the proprietor.

“One more thing, Master Lamplighter,”
Beckett said before they departed, with a twinkle in his eye.
“Allow me to present you with this complimentary umbrella as a
token of your first visit to Beckett’s. Perhaps it might help to,
ah, shield your eyes as they grow accustomed to the glare.”

He handed over a very fine, black silk
umbrella with a beautifully carved handle of some glossy dark wood.
It was obviously well made, and obviously well used. Nicholas
accepted it and closed his eyes for just a moment, releasing a
breath as though suddenly relieved of a burden.

“I cannot thank you enough,” he said to
Beckett. And he sounded as though he meant it with every fiber of
his being.

And the pair ventured on their way under the
comforting shelter of the umbrella, with a bit more spring in their
step. It was obvious that between the tea, the rest and the
umbrella, Nicholas felt much fortified against the overwhelming
sight of the open sky and the sheer numbers of the crowd around
them.

“And here’s the sweet shop,” Mary announced
brightly, blushing again as Nicholas gave her hand a little
squeeze, letting his fingers brush the backs of hers as he freed
his hand to open the door.

They didn’t stay long. The shop was crowded,
noisy and bright, sending Nicholas into a slight panic. He
purchased a large, colorful tin of assorted sweets, and had the
shop owner wrap it in gold paper with a crisp, white ribbon.

“I can take it to the post tomorrow for you,
if you like. Or at least send an apprentice with it,” Mary offered
as they left the small, noisy space and breathed a sigh of relief
upon hitting the relatively open pavement again. Nicholas snapped
the umbrella open as soon as they were clear of the door. The crowd
had thinned a bit, with the remaining pedestrians quickening their
strides and bundling themselves tighter against the worsening
weather. Mr. Beckett’s gift seemed almost prescient.

“Snow,” whispered Nicholas as the first
flakes drifted softly down to settle on his outstretched hand.
“Look, Mary. It’s snow.”

She looked, watching with him as the fat
fluff of iciness melted on the warmed leather of his glove. A
steamcar puffed by just inches away from them, and Nicholas didn’t
even flinch at it this time, so captivated was he by the wondrous
stuff falling from the previously intimidating sky.

Like a boy, he laughed in delight and tipped
both the umbrella and his head back, closing his eyes and letting a
few snowflakes land on his outstretched tongue. The sight did
something odd to Mary’s insides, causing a funny twist in her belly
and breasts. She had to quell the urge to reach out, to steal a
flake from the soft, pink pad before it could melt. She felt oddly
envious of the snow.

“We should be getting back,” she reminded
him softly. With a reluctant nod, Nicholas righted his head before
grinning at her.

“I know it must seem foolish. You see these
things all the time, it’s just—”

“No,” Mary rushed to assure him, wrapping
her hand over his arm again and clasping him firmly. “No, it isn’t
foolish. It’s wonderful. I feel lucky to have been . . . the one
escorting you today.”

She had wanted to say something else,
something more personal, but pulled back at the last minute.
Because he was the Lamplighter. And she, despite her brand-new
title and status, was still only a novice in his eyes. And a
possible successor, it seemed. She wondered if she would have a day
like this, after a decade or so. A day when even a few blocks’ walk
in the open air would seem like an adventure in the untrammeled
wild.

Nicholas cocked his head, pursing his lips.
“Silly. Who else would I have possibly wanted here for this?”

He started them back down the street, back
to the security of the guild hall, his free arm now too full of
packages to hold her hand. But Mary felt giddy anyway, in a way she
thought was probably very unwise to examine too closely.

It was a walk to the shops and a wondering
at snowfall, that was all. That was all it could be. And nobody
knew that better than the Lamplighter, unless it was Mary
herself.

Taking luncheon to the Lamplighter had
fallen to her in the first place, Mary had long assumed, because
she was new. Because she was young. Because her mental tools, while
many and varied, did not lend themselves to the studied avoidance
of onerous duties. She was a good girl, dependable and diligent by
nature and habit.

So each day at noontide she left her
apprentice’s workbench and appeared at the kitchens to accept the
covered tray. She carried it through the echoing limestone
corridors of the guild hall until she reached the lift, where she
placed the tray on the floor so she could haul back the lever that
released the counterweights. She had learned to brace herself for
the jolt as the platform began its descent.

The first time she’d had no warning, and
wound up sprawled in a terrified heap over the tray, her heart
pounding even louder in her ears than the ratcheting, clanking
mechanism of the lift as it dropped her down to her destination.
The other apprentices had looked for the bruises upon her return,
snickering at her abraded palms.

That had been seven years ago, and most of
those laughing children lingered for years more in the apprentice
shop while she had moved up almost right away. But it still stung.
She was still set apart. And she was still the new girl, only she
became the new girl among the journeymen. And then, with
unprecedented speed, among the masters. The youngest too, by far,
at not quite nineteen.

The Lamplighter, who was also set apart by
the nature of his duties, seemed the only sympathetic ear at times.
Over the years, she had come to think of him as a friend, and
though it would have been easier to let an apprentice carry the
tray for her, she relished her visits with Nicholas too much to
share with anyone. So she still took the tray to the Lamplighter
herself. She still let people think the task was a burden, lest
anyone offer to take it upon themselves.

Amberherst kept doing the dinner trays now
to cozy up, she suspected. Not that it would make a lick of
difference. The guild had clearly already slated him as a potential
successor, alongside Mary, and their relative aptitudes had long
since been studied, quantified, evaluated. And now Nicholas was
being phased out, it seemed. A formal announcement could not be too
far away. And Mary had every reason to hope her future was already
secured, because she had seen Amberherst more than once in the
intimate company of a lithe young journeyman named Jocelyn. If they
had any sort of connection beyond friendship the guild would know,
because the guild always found out about that sort of thing. And it
would be a strike against him as a would-be Lamplighter. It was
hardly a job for a married man, or even a man who hoped to soon
marry. Nor for a seducer, if that was all those two had between
them.

“If he wants her, he’d better hurry,” Mary
said to herself, knowing it was uncharitable in the extreme.

“Mary?” Nicholas spoke from behind the
mirrors, and Mary flushed to realize she’d been speaking out
loud.

“Nothing. I’m here, whenever you’re
ready.”

“Good. It’s calm now, let’s get you strapped
in.” He raised an eyebrow at her as she swung the screens aside. “I
want to show you something new today.”

After their odd moments of connection
yesterday, Mary was keenly aware of every touch, every brush of his
skin against hers as he buckled her hands into place. Had he always
taken such care, she wondered? Or was she just more sensitive to it
now that she’d allowed these foolish notions to enter her head? His
fingers seemed to leave trails of sensation behind them, pulling
shivers from her that she tried desperately to resist.

With the mirrors back in place, she saw that
things were indeed calm at the moment. The early traffic had
abated, the ship channel was quiet and no disasters seemed
imminent.

It was all running like the clockwork it
mainly was, and she saw nothing that wasn’t familiar, long since
mastered.

“You said there would be something new,” she
said, puzzled.

From beyond the mirrors Nicholas spoke, his
voice sounding closer than she’d expected. Mary squinted through
the brass hinges between two panels, but could see nothing beyond
the screens.

“There is, but it isn’t on the viewers. I
want to talk to you today, to explain something. And I want to make
sure you listen and think.”

She nodded. Then, realizing he couldn’t see
her, she spoke her agreement. “All right. I’m a captive audience
now anyway, I suppose.”

“About that. It has occurred to me that
you’ve probably already deduced the guild’s plans for you. You’re
nothing if not smart, Master Mary Cross.”

It was still a thrill to hear that title. “I
have given it some consideration. I can’t quite believe it’s what I
think.”

“I believe they’d like me gone with the New
Year. And I have reason to believe the guild currently favors you
for my replacement.”