Foundling (22 page)

“Please,” the physician interjected in a low, insistent voice. “You’ll wake her.”

Madam Felicitine eyed him coldly but continued with deliberate calm. “
She
cannot stay here because if guests of genuine refinement were to learn that a person of violence and infamy was bunked in the suite next door, they would never return and advise others to do the same. I
will
not have this,
oh no
!” With a dark look at Doctor Verhooverhoven, she forced herself to be collected again. “No, no, the billet-boxes are the place for her, though I prefer the servant stalls for the likes of these, if they must stay here at all.”

She then looked gravely at Rossamünd, who was looking very grave himself. “Now it pains me, child, it truly does, but things must have their right place and order, people have their rank and station; some should not assert themselves above their betters. I know you’ll understand one day.”

“Now, now, dear . . .” Billetus tried again.

Her momentum building, the enrica d’ama went on. “That is quite enough from you, I would say!
You
, who let
her
—” That accusing finger now stabbed at Europe, unconscious on the bed. “—stay
here
!” Her arms now gestured wildly at the whole room. She began to go pale. Her cheeks wobbled apoplectically. “Did you
think I
wouldn’t
find out
? She simply
has to go
!”

Mister Billetus now fumbled and stumbled but offered very little else.

“
Oh my bursting knees! Keep
her in the billet-boxes if your tender heart won’t allow eviction!” the enrica d’ama hissed.
“Either way, get her out of this room!”

In the awful, echoing silence that followed came a soft, icy voice. “My money glitters as well as another’s, madam, and here in
this
bed I
will
stay!”

Everyone looked in wonder to the bed where Europe had lain apparently senseless just moments before. She was still tucked in, her head still half-buried in the midst of the many, too-soft pillows, but her eyes were open now, bloodshot and baleful—and regarding Madam Felicitine with cold disdain.

Unexpected relief burst within Rossamünd.

At last Europe had woken.

 

 

 

M
ADAM Felicitine did not appear to know how to answer such cool and obstinate certainty as she found in Europe. Suddenly rendered powerless in her own wayhouse, she quit the room with a great shower of tears and a great show of wailing.

Mumbling incoherent apologies, Billetus hurried after her, closing the dark door as he left.

Gretel and the skold looked at each other awkwardly, and then the bower maid busied herself by moving about the room lighting candles against the growing dark.

Doctor Verhooverhoven stood and stared at the floor impassively.

The skold looked from him to the bed and back, then behind her at the door. “I—I . . . I am s-s-sorry if I have d-done s-s-something to offend, Duh-Doctor Hoo-over-hoven,” she offered, appearing truly troubled.

This roused the good physician. “Not at all, not at all, girl.You were only answering to my call—and fair enough at that. Let us think no more on what has just passed—this lady needs your aid.”

A look of great relief lit up her face. “A-Absolutely, yes, let’s.You know I’ll always he-elp as b-best I c. . . can.”

“And a great commendation it is to you too, my dear.” The physician smiled grimly.

Rossamünd was at Europe’s bedside in a dash, full of hopeful concern.

She looked at him placidly, her red eyes ghastly within the oval of her sickly face. “Hello, little man . . . Have I been away for long?”

“Since last night . . . um, very early this morning.” Rossamünd’s voice quavered slightly in his eagerness.

The fulgar closed her eyes. “So we made it to the wayhouse, then? . . . Am I all delirium or are my senses turning hard rocks and sharp pinecones into a soft, warm bed?”

“Aye, aye, we made it here, ma’am, and the kind people helped us.”

Europe chuckled weakly. “I’m sure they did—except maybe that screeching woman. Tell me now, how much has this
help
cost?”

The boy’s face fell. He had not thought of it quite like that: that they were ready with assistance only as he was ready to pay. “Ah, twelve sequins for two nights.”

Her chuckle grew louder, but that stopped with a soft gasp. “And you paid from my purse?”

“No, ma’am.” Rossamünd puffed his chest just a little. “I paid with the Emperor’s Billion, which was given me to start work as a lamplighter.”

“An Emperor’s Man, are we? Good for you. How interesting . . .” She seemed to fade for a moment, then shuddered. “I am sick, Rossamünd. I must have my treacle and very soon.You’ll have to make it for me again . . .”

While they had talked so, Doctor Verhooverhoven stood by, rocking on his heels once more. Now he came in quickly. “And you shall have it, madam. Here I am, the local physician, Doctor Verhooverhoven—how do you do?—and here is the delightful Miss Sallow, our own skold, who can make you your plaudamentum. Am I right, dear?” The physician turned his attention to the skold, who stepped forward, obviously in awe of the fulgar now invalid in the bed before her.

“W-why yes. I n-know all the k . . . kinds of drafts n . . . needed by l-lahzars. A g-good ssskold all-lways does.”

The fulgar turned her mizzled attention to them both and squinted. “Ah, mister physician, you’ve got me a skold—how kind. Such . . . tender mercies, I thank you. However, the boy could have made it for me, sir. He’s much cleverer than he looks.”

Ducking his head, Rossamünd did not know whether to be pleased or offended.

“I am sure he is and more, dear lady, but I would prefer to trust to my own methods and know it’s done as well as I know it can be done.” Doctor Verhooverhoven nodded his head in agreement with his own statement.

“However you want it. I’ll not argue with a man of physics.”

“As it should be, madam.” He smiled ingratiatingly. “I shall recommend a soporific be brought to you as well, to help you sleep. Take both this and the plaudamentum and then heal with that most ancient of cures—rest.”

Europe closed her eyes, a knowing grin upon her lips. “And tell me, dear doctor. At what price does your
warm
concern come?”

Rossamünd could not be certain, but it seemed that Doctor Verhooverhoven actually blushed. “You do me a disservice, madam. I seek to help you purely for the satisfaction of knowing another human creature is strolling easy once more upon the path of health.”

“Certainly you do, sir,” Europe softly sighed, “and what will be the account waiting for me upon my departure? We all have to put food in stomachs and clothes on our backs—I’ll not begrudge you your pay.”

“Two sequins pays for it all,” the physician relented.

Europe raised an eyebrow.

Rossamünd thought her still very sharp and feisty for one so very ill.

Doctor Verhooverhoven quickly went on. “But enough of this unflattering talk of fiscal things—you must be easy now, and have your draft when it’s done.”

Rossamünd found that disturbing black lacquer case—the treacle-box—poking from a saddlebag at the bottom of the cupboard. Once again it gave him dread chills as he fetched it out. He took it over to Europe, who roused herself and smiled weakly.

She looked to Sallow, who blushed brightly from ear to ear. “Let this little man help you, skold. I trust him.”

The fulgar gave Rossamünd a strange and haunted look. “He’s my new . . . factotum . . .” she finished almost in a whisper.

The foundling was stunned—
her new factotum?
Where did that leave him with the lamplighters?

Doctor Verhooverhoven gave a slight bow. “As it shall be, ma’am. Take your ease.Your drafts shall be ready presently.” He raised his arms in a broad gesture to the skold and the foundling. “Come! Sallow. Young sir. Off to the kitchens now and do your duty. Gretel will show you the way. Tell Closet that I have sent you.”

With a small bright-limn in her hand, the bower maid opened the door and curtsied to them, giving a grin. “I’ll take you to the kitchens, just as the physic ordered.” She stepped lightly into the hall and the skold went with her.

Rossamünd gave Europe a last look and followed, a welcome calm settling inside—things were going to turn out well. Still, his thinking turned upon two questions as he followed the bower maid and the skold down the dim hall:
How am I going to be able to be Europe’s factotum and lamplighter too?
and
Where are my shoes?

Gretel took them through a door, down another passage and through another door. Stepping alongside Sallow, Rossamünd became aware that she was surrounded with some very unpleasant smells and sensations. In combination with the treacle-box, these made him feel distinctly queasy.

“Hello,” the skold said softly with a shy smile. “M-my name is Sssallow Meh-Meermoon. What’s yours?”

“Rossamünd,” he replied.
She must be kind of important, to have two names
. As always, he was half waiting for a strange reaction to his own.

“My, R-Rossamünd, it mmmust be
am-mazing
to be the f-factotum of the B-Branden Rose!”

She had not reacted. He
liked
her.
Pity she smells so badly
. “It must be amazing to be a
skold
,” he returned.

“Ooh, I w-wish it were.” Sallow sounded deeply troubled.

Rossamünd looked up at her sad face.

“I only j-just got back from th-the r-r-rhombus in Wörms a m-month aa-go,” she went on rapidly. “Three years I was th-there, learning the E-Elements and the Su-Sub-Elements, the Parts, potential nostrum, all the ss-scripts, all the buh-Bases and the Combinations, the kuh-Körnchenflecter, the F-Four S-Spheres and the fuh-Four Humours, Applications of the
V-Vadè kuh-Chemica,
mmmatter and ha-abilistics. Oh m-my, what a l-lot to n-know.”

Rossamünd knew from his almanac that a “rhombus” was where some skolds went to learn their craft. As to the other things she’d said, he had no idea what she was talking about—except that “matter” was the study of things now past, that “habilistics” was the study of how things work and that the
Vadè Chemica
was an ancient book—as Craumpalin had told him—full of the most unspeakable things. This girl seemed too polite and kind to have spent three years delving into such a grim volume.

“I have l-learned it all too,” she carried on. “Eh-everything. Achieved hi-igh st-standards, won p-prizes. Oh, but nuh-now . . .”

She trailed off as they went through one last door and came into a very large room full of heat and steam and shouts. Shadows moved within this muggy air, lit glaringly from behind by a large pall of flickering orange. Delicious smells, sweet and savory, hung thickly.

Mmm, the kitchen . . .
Rossamünd’s stomach celebrated this discovery with a gurgle.

“Bucket, you little sprig!” a refined but gravelly voice boomed. “Keep that spit turning and turning slowly, or I’ll put you on it and baste you instead!”

There was a clang, then a crash, then a tinkle.

“That’s it! Out!
Out!
” the voice boomed more loudly.

A small child scurried out of the thick vapors, pushed past them roughly and through the door. A ladle came flying after him, just missing Gretel and bouncing to the cobbled ground with a bang and a clatter that stung the ears. A very average-looking man with a red face appeared from the steam, his expression changing from a fit of fury to shamed apology and finally fixing on stiff reserve as he saw the three newcomers and at their feet the still shuddering ladle. “Gretel. Whom have you brought me? Do they not like their food? Do they want Uda to make it instead, do they?”