Chapter 30: One and Six Candles

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“We’ll have to use a candle,” Mr. Trinket’s wife says. “Do you boys know about the life of a candle?”

“Are candles alive?” I ask.

Jimbe laughs but Mrs. Trinket only smiles and touches my arm. Mrs. Trinket takes a box down from the mantle - a wooden box, so its contents must be valuable. She puts it on the table, in front of me.

“It’s only the life of fire,” she tells me. “Look here,” she says, opening the box and folding back the cloth inside. “Look at these,” she says, taking a candle in the palms of both hands. She steps back half a pace, so that some of the light of the lamp falls on it better.

The candle is peculiar to me. I’d seen common candles, as wide as your palm twice as tall. I’d seen tapers, which are a thumb at the base and taper to a point.

“These are special,” she says. “They are molded in Beshof of just the right wax. And they know the time like a clock.”

“They have no gears,” I say. “Is it magic?”

“Look close,” she says. “Do you see the lines there? Do you know your numbers?”

“I know those,” I say, eager to show that I know some things. “But it’s just counting from one to twelve.”

She sets the candle down again and takes down a candle holder from the mantle. I don’t know it’s a candle holder, for I thought it to be a tall mug or such a vessel.

I confuse things - here is what it is. The candle holder has a hole to accommodate the special candle, and Mrs. Trinket places the candle neatly into its receptacle. Then she gets a twig and lights it in the fire to light the wick. Then she lowers the mug - which has no top and no bottom - over the candle as it burns.

“But it gives no light,” I say.

“Look, there,” she says, putting the candle holder and all back up on the mantle. “See that dot?”

There is a hole in the mug, and I look closer and see three others. The light is visible only through that hole, near the top.

“When it burns out, that’ll be like the chimes from Eldmere. It’ll be time for the next supper, then, if the light hasn’t returned.”

“No chimes in Eldmere,” I say. “They’ll all be in the great hall, huddling for warmth.”

“Do not touch this candle,” she says to me, very firmly. “It is not for light. But when it goes out, come and tell me, either of you. Knock on Trinket’s door, if you must.”

I say that I will as she puts away the remaining candles.

There are six.

All of the candle is after dinner, though. Mr. Trinket sits with us, at first, with his wife off with Lianth and Sabill.

I go to work on my peasant bread. Since I’ve started carting, no one denies me ale or cider. I soak my bread carefully, letting the liquid soften it. This bread is still chewy, though. I take my time to eat.

As the bread settles in my stomach, I look over Jimbe’s shoulder at the People of the Square. I ask - Jimbe or Trinket, I forget - “Are they cold?”

“Serves them right if they are,” Trinket says.

“Why don’t you ask them,” Jimbe says.

I look across the table at the two women and the man of the Square, still on the bench, watching us.

“Go on,” says Trinket. “I’ll find rugs and whatnot,” he adds, grudgingly.

I stand by the woman in the hat and take her chin in hand.

“Are you cold?” I ask.

“Ask - uh - thers -” she says.

I can’t fathom this, for they all sit together. If one is cold, aren’t they all cold?

But I step to my weak side, careful to avoid their feet and keep my feet from being tangled in their rug. I feel the bench on the back of my legs.

“Are you cold?” I ask the man, taking his chin in hand and opening and closing his mouth.

“Cold,” he says. “Should - ah - cold.”

He wears a tunic and breeches over his underthings, all boring brown. The women wear long dresses, plain brown cloth. They must all be cold.

I nod. “And you?” I ask the woman in the hat, pausing before I reach for her chin. I don’t know if there’s a way to address her. “Ma’am?” I add as I reach for her chin.

“Put a blanket over us,” she says, one mouthful at a time. “You are kind.”

I’m getting better at both hearing the words spoken and moving her mouth with rhythm.

Jimbe and Trinket are already draping rugs over them as we finish talking.

Since the first night at Vesh’s cottage, I’d stayed with others in the dark, so I know my way of it. After dinner, I sing a little song while Jimbe drums the table with his thumb and finger, keeping marvelous time. From the parlor, we hear Sabill sing with her sweet child’s voice. Later, we hear some thumping and then applause. Sabill can jump and caper, but I wonder that she could do acrobatics in such a small room.

I ask Trinket if he’d met any of the people of Talcutt.

“Oh, yes, all the time. They come through with their goats to sell, herd them around the skerry.”

“And do they all wear the blue turban?” I ask.

“Yes, all of them,” he tells me. “But that's finery. While they drive goats, they wear a simple rag.”

I mean to ask if he knows more about them and their turbans, but the conversation moves on.

Submitted: August 15, 2023

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