Ch. 112 A Watch to Keep

Chapter 112: A Watch to Keep

Sella refused to send the second glass section until she had made a spare.

Perrin looked at the finished piece.

Then at her.

“But that one works.”

“Yes.”

“And the first one is already fitted.”

“Yes.”

He waited.

Sella wrapped the glass in clean cloth.

“If you break this carrying it up the stairs, would you prefer to begin the waiting afterward?”

Perrin considered that.

Then reached for another sheet of paper.

By afternoon, the box had handles on both sides.

The work took another nine days.

Greykeep filled them easily.

A delivery of seed arrived with one sack split.

The school needed another bench.

Two families asked whether the empty rooms above the old cooper’s shop could be made into separate homes.

Eleanor inspected the stairs and said they could, once the stairs had been persuaded to remain attached to the building.

In the infirmary, Soren began taking a regular share of the morning examinations again.

I found him washing his hands after treating a carter.

The man had already gone.

Soren stood at the basin, looking down at the water.

“Everything all right?”

He looked up.

“Yes.”

I waited.

After a moment, he smiled.

“I forgot to be afraid it wouldn’t answer.”

“The blessing?”

He nodded.

“I was thinking about his hand.”

Outside, the carter called for someone to move a wagon.

Soren dried his fingers.

Then went to fetch the next patient.

Evelyn’s lessons continued too.

One afternoon, she came back from the practice yard with dust on the hem of her gown and a satisfied expression.

I looked up from the nursery rug.

“You reached the line?”

“Twice.”

“Against Alistair?”

“Once. Melody the second time.”

I sat straighter.

“That seems worth mentioning first.”

“She was being kind.”

From the doorway, Melody said, “I was being accurate.”

My wife turned.

“I thought you’d gone.”

“I came to return this.”

She held up Evelyn’s hair ribbon.

My wife accepted it.

I looked between them.

“What happened to your hair?”

“The shield held,” Evelyn said.

“That hasn’t answered—”

“The shield held.”

Melody smiled and went away.

Our son chose that evening to laugh at a sneeze.

My sneeze.

It startled all three of us.

Then Garrick laughed again, apparently at his own success.

Evelyn looked at me with wide eyes.

“Do it again.”

“I don’t think I can arrange it.”

“Try.”

I attempted something that sounded reasonably similar.

Our son regarded me gravely.

Carol looked toward the door.

My wife covered her mouth.

“It was more convincing the first time.”

“It was less voluntary.”

Garrick kicked both feet.

I leaned down and touched my forehead gently to his.

He caught at my hair.

Evelyn watched us for a while before retrieving the letter she had begun for the twins.

I heard her pen moving.

“What are you writing?”

“Nothing flattering.”

When the glass was ready, Sella carried it to Orselle herself.

The spare remained in Greykeep until the first had arrived safely.

Then it followed in a second box.

Aldren spent the next two days at the tower.

So did Perrin.

Their first report concerned the fittings.

The second concerned the heat.

The third contained a drawing of a small catch that needed moving because Edda could not reach it comfortably while standing at the main control.

I looked at the drawing.

“How did we miss that?”

“We didn’t ask her to operate it while the full frame was assembled,” Aldren said.

“Can you move it?”

“Already done.”

On the fourth morning, Tamsin sent an invitation.

This one contained a time.

Evelyn and I went to the tower before dusk.

Eliza accompanied us.

Helena had the twins, Garrick had promised to stay for supper, and Mary had been given instructions to send for us if anything needed a decision before morning.

She had looked at those instructions.

Then at me.

“I generally do.”

“Yes.”

“You may go.”

I went.

At the lighthouse, Edda met us beside the red door.

For the first time, she wore a coat without soot on the cuffs.

Linnet stood behind her carrying a basket.

“Father sent supper.”

“Is he here?”

“At North Point.”

“Watching?”

Linnet nodded.

“He says someone ought to check whether all this fuss can be seen from anywhere useful.”

Edda snorted.

Then took the basket upstairs.

The lamp looked smaller with all its pieces in place.

During the repairs, parts of it had occupied tables, crates, and most of Perrin’s thoughts.

Now the glass sat within its brass ribs.

The turning ring rested level beneath it.

A neat cover protected the charging connection.

I walked around it once.

Sella watched me.

“Admire it from there.”

“I wasn’t going to touch it.”

“You were considering it.”

Evelyn took my hand.

“There. Solved.”

Perrin stood beside the mechanism with an open notebook.

He had written the date at the top of the page.

Beneath it, several blank lines waited.

I remembered him bringing us the first drawing of a wall bracket.

He caught me looking.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That usually means something.”

I smiled.

He shook his head and checked his pencil.

They had already tested the lamp with the shutters closed.

Tonight would tell us what the people on the water could see.

Two boats waited offshore.

Observers stood at the harbor mouth and on the northern road.

Everyone had agreed on signals before leaving.

Edda checked each item aloud.

The brake.

The shutters.

The charge.

Aldren answered where an answer was needed.

When she finished, he stepped away.

The keeper laid her hand on the control.

The crystal brightened.

Light gathered inside the glass.

Edda released the ring.

It turned with a faint, steady sound.

A beam crossed the chamber and swept out over the water.

Then another.

Then a third.

Evelyn’s fingers tightened around mine.

Beyond the window, the dark sea opened beneath a pale band of light.

For a few moments, I could see farther than I had expected.

Then the beam passed.

And returned.

The first report came from the harbor.

Clear.

Correct pattern.

Perrin wrote it down.

The nearer boat answered next.

Then the farther one.

Sella watched the glass while Aldren checked the supports.

Edda stood at the controls, moving only when she needed to.

Nobody asked me to do anything.

I was grateful.

I wanted to see it.

After half an hour, Evelyn leaned closer.

“You’re smiling.”

“So are you.”

“Yes.”

We stayed by the window.

Far below, a little fishing boat rounded the inner marker.

Its crew would not know how many people stood above them counting, measuring, worrying over a repaired ring.

They would see the light.

That was what they needed.

North Point answered after the first inspection pause.

Linnet read the signal from the window.

Then read it again.

Edda looked over.

“Well?”

Her niece’s mouth moved into a grin.

“He says it’s visible.”

“And?”

“Distinct.”

“And?”

Linnet folded her arms.

“He says Mother would have made him clean their windows if she’d known he could see that far.”

Edda laughed.

It was a full, unguarded sound.

I had not heard it from her before.

She went to the signaling shutter herself.

Her reply took some time.

I did not ask what it said.

We left the tower before midnight.

The relief arrangements had changed.

Edda would take the first part of the night.

A harbor worker named Tomas, trained beside her through the final tests, would take the second.

Linnet had promised to remain until the changeover.

At the bottom of the stair, I looked back.

The light moved across the narrow window above the landing.

Evelyn stopped beside me.

“Do you want to stay?”

Part of me did.

Part of me wanted to watch until morning and make certain nothing went wrong.

I thought of Edda completing her checks.

Of Aldren’s notes.

Of Tomas arriving with his own copy of the operating instructions tucked inside his coat.

“No,” I said.

My wife slipped her arm through mine.

We walked down toward the waiting wagon.

Sella prepared to return to Westmere three days later.

I found her packing the lenses she had brought.

Her apprentice wrapped each one while she checked the empty spaces in the case.

“Will you come back?” I asked.

“If you have work.”

“We will.”

She closed the lid.

“Then ask early. I still have customers who require windows.”

Tilda arrived carrying a narrow wooden box.

Inside were copies of the final measurements and a small metal fitting made to Sella’s specifications.

The glassworker examined it.

Ran one thumb over the edge.

“Good.”

From Sella, it sounded almost extravagant.

Perrin came to say goodbye.

He began with a question about the curvature.

She answered.

Then he asked another.

Tilda eventually took him by the shoulder.

“Let the woman reach the gate.”

Sella lifted her case.

“Write them down.”

Perrin looked up.

“Your questions,” she said. “I’ll answer when I can.”

He was still smiling after she had gone.

The first week’s lamp records came to council with the ordinary accounts.

There had been no serious faults.

One small adjustment.

A loose fastening caught during an inspection.

The charge estimates needed revising, though in our favor.

Edda had added a note at the bottom.

Tomas notices things.

I showed it to Evelyn.

She smiled.

Tamsin’s letter concerned something else.

Ships calling at Orselle had begun asking who was maintaining the restored light.

Some offered money.

Others wanted to know whether the same work might be possible farther along the coast.

One captain had brought news of a tower whose lower room was still occupied, though its lamp had been dark for years.

Beatrice set down the letter.

“One at a time.”

“Yes,” I said.

She looked relieved that I had agreed before she needed the figures.

Aurelia listened to our account that night with Carol asleep in her arms.

Garrick lay across Evelyn’s lap, watching the rose climbing beside the garden window.

There was no lesson prepared.

I told Aurelia about Edda.

About Harl’s message.

About Sella going home.

When I finished, she brushed a finger over Carol’s small hand.

“I remember that light.”

“You said you’d seen it from a ship.”

“Yes.”

“Did you know the keeper?”

She thought for a moment.

“Not well. He gave me tea once. It was dreadful.”

Evelyn laughed.

“Did you tell him?”

“I was cold enough to drink it anyway.”

I looked toward the window.

“Were you frightened on the ship?”

“Yes.”

The answer was so simple that I turned back.

Aurelia met my eyes.

“I was not especially fond of rough water.”

I smiled.

For a little while, she told us about the voyage.

A lost hat.

A courtier who insisted he was perfectly well while lying on a bench.

The relief of seeing the headland.

Our son fell asleep before the ship reached harbor.

Aurelia lowered her voice and finished the story for us.

The following afternoon, I was helping Evelyn fold a blanket when Mary came to the door.

She carried a letter from Orselle.

I recognized Tamsin’s hand.

“Trouble?”

“Not at the lighthouse.”

That brought me to my feet.

Mary passed me the page.

A merchant vessel had entered the harbor shortly before dawn.

It carried cloth, household tools, and thirty-seven passengers from the islands beyond the eastern shipping route.

They had not booked passage to Orselle.

They had asked the captain to take them somewhere with a healer.

Two of the children were ill.

One woman needed help walking.

The harbor infirmary had already received them.

Tamsin wanted permission to bring several patients through the gate.

I looked at Mary.

“Tell Ilyen and Cael. Ask what they need.”

She nodded and turned.

Evelyn was already laying the folded blanket aside.

“I’ll speak with Mother.”

“You don’t have to—”

She looked at me.

I stopped.

Then nodded.

“I’ll meet you downstairs.”

At the gate hall, the attendants were clearing space beside the receiving room.

Nessa arrived with clean linen.

Soren followed her carrying a bag.

Cael came last, fastening his coat as he walked.

“What do we know?” he asked.

I gave him the letter.

He read it while the gatekeeper prepared the crossing.

Beyond the opening, Orselle’s hall came into view.

Tamsin stood beside a woman holding a sleeping child.

Several people waited behind her.

They had the stillness of travelers who had reached the end of what they could manage alone.

The woman looked through the gate.

At Nessa.

At Soren’s bag.

Then at Cael as he stepped forward.

“Come through,” he said.

Her grip tightened around the child.

“Are you the healer?”

“One of them.”

She crossed.

As Nessa guided her toward a chair, the woman began to cry.

Cael walked beside her.

“What is your little boy’s name?”

I moved out of their way.

Behind me, Evelyn entered the hall with Helena.

The next family was already coming through.