Lantern

by Chess Desalls

  With a tiny smile, Evelyn grabbed her sister’s hand and allowed herself be hoisted off the bench. “If I were the mayor of Gem City, I’d want everything to sparkle, too.”

  “So you’re okay with the move here? To Erie, Pennsylvania?”

  “I’m getting used to it.” Evelyn shrugged. “I just wish all of us could have come, that we were still together.”

  Frowning, Joyce wrapped an arm around Evelyn’s shoulder. “Me too,” she whispered. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

  The moon had reached its full brightness by the time Evelyn and Joyce opened the front door of what Joyce had called home. Both had done their best to brush dirt from their clothing and shoes before stepping inside their cousin’s house.

  “Girls?” called out a raspy female voice.

  Evelyn stole a glance at Joyce, who was already removing her shoes.

  “We’re back, Carla,” said Joyce. “Both of us.”

  Evelyn swapped her shoes for her favorite pair of slippers. She tied the last ribbon as Carla entered the room.

  “It’s probably cold by now, but your supper is on the table.”

  “Thanks.” Joyce smiled. “I’m starving.”

  The girls followed Carla to a kitchen table spread with plates, a pitcher of lemonade, and a potpie.

  “Aren’t you eating with us?” Evelyn asked, scanning the flowered tablecloth and noting the absence of a third place setting.

  “Not tonight,” said Carla, “but you’re welcome to as much as you like.” She sighed and left the room.

  Both girls blinked. Joyce shook her head as if to say: Don’t worry; it’s probably nothing. Evelyn understood her meaning, though she didn’t agree. Somehow, everything felt wrong.

  Joyce was eleven months older, but they were often mistaken for twins. In addition to matching dark eyes, both had blonde hair streaked with platinum and gold. Their complexions were still sun-kissed from summer months spent on the New Jersey shore. They shared the same build—an athletic sort of lanky that was almost masculine.

  “You’d think she’d want to get to know us better,” said Evelyn, between mouthfuls of pastry crust dripping with gravy. “It’s not like we’ll be here long.”

  Joyce frowned. “We don’t know that yet.”

  “You’re only staying long enough to help me adjust to my senior year. Then you’ll be off to college—living on campus, with no reason to come back to visit.” She lifted an accusatory brow. “You should have started this fall instead of waiting a year, you know. You didn’t have to wait for me.”

  “I’m right where I need to be,” countered Joyce. “Freshman year’s essential, and I didn’t want to screw it up. I’m not sure I could focus with all that’s happened. By next year, we could be college roomies.”

  Evelyn twisted her lips, considering this. “So you’re not here mainly to protect me?”

  “I need you to get through this as much as you need me, especially with the boys gone.” Joyce’s eyes misted with tears. She blinked them back and lowered her voice. “I get they were too much for Carla to take on, especially when she already has the two of us.”

  Evelyn sighed. “I hope someone can take all three of them, permanently, so they can grow up together like we did.”

  “Me, too.”

  Chapter 2

  Graham

  The cottage door swung open. A man stood in the doorway. Wisps of gray hair sprouted around and between a pair of goggles perched on his head. He wiped his hands on the belly of his cloth apron and squinted.

  “I’ve been expecting you, Graham Webb.”

  The boy’s cheeks flushed until they shone bright as his hair. He worked hard to keep his hands separated so he wouldn’t be caught twiddling his thumbs.

  “M-Master?”

  “Machin,” the old man answered, smiling. “Do you still have the gift I sent you?”

  “Yes, sir.” Graham pulled a metal apparatus, a mechanical torch, from his pocket and held it in front of him. “I’ve been meanin’ to thank you for this—for years, but the first time I stopped by, the cottage was closed. I nearly gave up, and prob’ly would have, had I not spoken with Serah.”

  Machin’s crinkly grin stretched wider. “Perseverance will serve you well here. As will the torch.” He fanned an arm and waited for Graham to enter the cottage before he pulled the door shut behind them.

  Graham had little time to absorb his surroundings before a woman with blonde hair and bright blue eyes poked her head in the room.

  “Since it’s too late for breakfast, I’m preparing an early mid-meal. How many places will we be needing?”

  “Three,” answered Machin. “Thank you, Gelsey.”

  The woman named Gelsey nodded. Her head disappeared back inside the adjoining room. Graham’s eyes widened at the clang of pots and pans and the scratch of benches being moved about.

  His stomach growled. Every part of him had been so immersed with having finally met Machin that his nose hadn’t registered the streams of berry pie scent wafting through the air.

  Or the lanterns.

  Glass globes, most filled with a rich, white light, covered ceilings and walls. A table sat beneath the largest cluster of lanterns, holding empty globes and metal frames. Tools and cloth rags were scattered about.

  Graham’s breath hitched. The butterflies in his stomach had slowed to a halt at the mention of mid-meal, but the lanterns reminded him why he was here. Not for food, but for work. And then maybe later, food.

  But the position had not been guaranteed. He wasn’t Machin’s apprentice, and the hope that he might be was nearly suffocated by a sudden wash of nervousness.

  He pulled his eyes away from the dazzle of light.

  “Thank you for your hospitality, Master Machin, but aren’t you goin’ to interview me first? The way you did with Serah?”

  Machin rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “No further interview is necessary. Serah provided a remarkable recommendation on your behalf. And…” he added, pointing to the torch, “I had already suspected you’d be a good fit for the position.”

  “So there won’t be a test?” Graham whispered.

  “There won’t be a test.”

  Graham’s lips opened slightly as he considered this.

  Machin had sent him the torch before he’d offered Serah her apprenticeship. Serah later read to him what appeared on the tag that had been attached to the torch: This torch will light the way from your end of the forest to mine. I wish you the best, Machin.

  He’d been disappointed when he’d learned Serah had accepted the position, and then again when Serah admitted she’d forgotten to put in a good word for him. Serah must have set things right, the way she promised, he thought, because there he was now, standing in the warmth and glow of Machin’s cottage. With the greatest opportunity of his life before him.

  The master lamp maker had said there would be no test.

  Graham released a long breath. The morning’s fidgeting and worrying about what tests he’d need to pass to become Machin’s apprentice melted away.

  Graham followed Gelsey through a hatch in the floor of the room where Machin had spent most of the day. The room that held the furnace.

  They descended a ladder, which ended inside a tunnel that led to a series of underground rooms. As the light from the furnace above faded, Graham found it difficult to see where he was placing his feet.

  He pressed the switch of his mechanical torch, which generated a scratching sound. The torch clicked three times before a blue flame shone at one end. Sulfurous smoke seeped into the air.

  Graham pinched his nostrils shut with his fingers.

  “Stinks, doesn’t it?” said Gelsey. “Here, take this clamp. Machin had me make one of these for you.”

  She offered him a wooden contraption, similar to the one she wore, and helped him fit it to his nose. The clamp’s jaws were made of wood, and adjusted with tiny screws.

  “Thank you.” Graham eyed the metal tubes that ran a
long the walls. “Serah told me ’bout those, and how Machin made them to warm the rooms.”

  “That’s right. Hot air from the furnace travels through the pipes. Your room is fitted with them as well.”

  “My own room, inside a cottage,” said Graham quietly.

  He pressed his hands to his stomach, not used to it twisting with something other than hunger. “I ’pologize if I’ve said it too often already, but thank you for the change of clothing.”

  His tan breeches appeared gray under the blue light; they were stiffer than the collage of patches he was used to wearing, but the tunic was soft and warm.

  He yawned. After mid-meal, a proper washing in a tub instead of a stream, and a belly that was once again full—this time with a supper of bread, cheese, and barley tea—the excitement of being Machin’s apprentice was not enough to keep him awake much longer.

  Gelsey frowned beneath furrowed brows. “It’s the least I could do. I’ve left a set of nightclothes on the table next to your bed. If it gets too hot and stuffy for you, open your door a crack. I know you’re used to sleeping in the open air, and we wouldn’t think any less of you if we found you outside beneath a tree in the morning.”

  “That’s kind of you,” said Graham, rubbing an eye. “I suppose I haven’t often slept in a proper room since Father died.”

  “Machin suspected as much.”

  She stopped at a doorway. “This is the apprentice’s room. Machin and I have rooms down that way,” she said, pointing deeper inside the tunnel. “Let us know if you need anything at all.

  Graham smiled. “I will. Thank you, Gelsey.”

  “Now go on in and get rested. Machin will be keeping you plenty busy tomorrow.”

  Chapter 3

  Evelyn

  “Halloween is tomorrow,” Evelyn murmured. She was looking up and scratching her head. “I can’t believe they still haven’t fixed that lantern.”

  Or, she thought, maybe they did fix it, and the bulb blew out again.

  She circled the pole that held a lantern that was empty of light, wondering why she hadn’t seen the lantern lit once, despite all the bulb replacements.

  You would think someone would have tested it—to see that it worked before going away.

  Her slow exhalation of a whistle became a stream of fog in the air. She tutted and shook her head.

  “It’s too late for me to do anything about it now. So much for me trying to do something useful here.” It’s as if some strange force in this city is resisting me as much as I’ve been resisting our move here.

  With a sigh, Evelyn turned to leave the pier, leaving the waves lightly crashing against the pillars behind her. I do love the water, though.

  A few steps later, a crackling buzz filled her head. The sound persisted even after shaking her head again and rubbing her ears.

  She turned. Squinting, she scanned the lanterns, stopping at the one that wasn’t lit. Purple-blue sparks traveled along the outside of the glass, flickering and reaching jagged tails of light halfway down the pole.

  She frowned.

  What’s that supposed to be?

  It’s too high to climb, she thought, wishing for a closer look. She reached out and pressed a palm to the pole’s surface. And too smooth; I’d probably slip back down.

  Streams of light—wispy currents that flickered and shined blue—trailed farther along the pole and danced across the back of her hand. She pulled back as if she’d been burned, though there had been only a feather-light tickle. The sensation lingered for longer than was comfortable. Frowning, she rubbed away the last bit of prickling with her opposite hand.

  That was weird, but if I were to report this, it would only be a waste of time.

  Evelyn stepped away, her mind committed to going home.

  They’re probably tired of my nagging. Nobody would believe me, anyway.

  The electric buzz faded from her hearing as she walked away. She looked back one more time, before she was too far away to see the lantern. The purple-blue light was gone, as if it had given up or gone to sleep for the night, leaving her wondering whether she’d been imagining things—whether the sparks she’d heard, seen, and felt had really been there.

  Evelyn crossed her arms and hugged them close to her body as she walked. What just happened? I doubt Joyce would believe me, if I told her. And Carla probably doesn’t even know I’m gone.

  She picked up her pace, which helped to shake off the cold but did little to soothe her or explain the peculiarities in her thoughts. When she reached the front steps to Carla’s house, she felt like she was almost floating. Ghosts of the electric buzz had returned, coursing through her fingertips and into her mind.

  Evelyn shrieked when Joyce opened the front door. She barely remembered having knocked.

  Her sister’s welcoming smile faded. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “A ghost?” Evelyn’s chuckle was a bit forced.

  She considered telling her sister what had happened, then decided against it. Carla was already worried about her adjustment to the new area. She didn’t want to push things too far.

  “No ghosts,” she said, shaking out her hands. She smiled at the confidence that accompanied her words. At least I hope it wasn’t a ghost. I hadn’t considered that.

  She took a deep breath and sighed. “I’m tired, though.”

  The sisters walked into the living room. Evelyn followed Joyce’s lead and collapsed on a couch. A Halloween movie marathon was playing on a television screen mounted on the wall. Sighing, she let herself sink into the soft, fluffy cushions.

  When a loud whistle blew from the next room, Evelyn almost jumped out of her skin, as well as her seat.

  “Calm down, Evie,” said Joyce, standing up. “That’s the tea kettle. I’m making hot chocolate.”

  She bent her head forward until their noses touched. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Of course I am,” Evelyn answered.

  Joyce shot a doubtful look at Evelyn’s hands, to where she’d dug her fingernails into a pillow she’d been squeezing to her chest. Evelyn relaxed her fingers.

  Joyce’s forehead creased, but she didn’t question her further. When she left the room, Evelyn wiped the tiny beads of moisture from her forehead. She lowered her hand and flinched. The tickling sensation from the current of blue light was back again, sending soft streams of numbness along the back of her hand.

  She rubbed it away before Joyce returned with a pair of steaming mugs. She happily accepted the mug offered to her, keeping it tightly wrapped inside her hands, resisting the urge to let go when the warmth seeping through her skin got too hot.

  Chapter 4

  Graham

  “Graham Webb, join me at the furnace.”

  “Yes, Master Machin.” The young man all but bounded across the room from where he’d been polishing the lanterns with a cloth.

  He approached Machin, who stood before a massive furnace; its hungry mouth was open, bearing teeth of flame. Instead of a smokestack or pipe reaching up through the top of the roof, a set of smaller pipes in the back of the furnace transferred air to the underground rooms, such as the apprentice’s room Graham occupied. He’d attempted to ask Machin how that worked, but wasn’t told much beyond there being a transfer of energy from the melted tektite and glass dust that cleaned the air and propelled it through the pipes. Whatever the process, the fire and resulting hot air created a tremendous amount of heat.

  Between the warmth given off by the furnace and the solid weave of the tunic Gelsey had given him, Graham thought he’d suffocate if he stood there for long. He swallowed and tugged at his neckband. The bottom half of his tunic draped below his belt and had already begun to make his knees sweat.

  “How may I help you, Master Machin?”

  “Pay careful attention.”

  Machin thrust a pair of large metal tongs, which held a dark stonelike object, inside the mouth of the furnace. Graham had seen his master at work many
times, but he was never allowed to do any of it. So far, his only task had been to dust the lanterns with a clean cloth. It was up to Gelsey and her duster to clean everything else.

  Graham was curious what would be different—what Machin wanted him to watch. Each time his master had done so previously, the special form of tektite known as Celestial Glass was shaped into a globe. Machin often sold these globes to the shopkeepers in town who would, in turn, sell them to the residents of Havenbrim and to visitors from farther away. Other times, Machin would frame the globes of different shapes and sizes to make lanterns.

  Machin pulled the tongs from the furnace and blew across glass. The globe that formed was an oblong orb that was clear and hollow, and taller than it was wide. Machin carefully set the globe on a cooling rack upon the shelf.

  He repeated the process with another chunk of tektite. This time, he pulled from the furnace a glass casing that was rounded on the bottom and tapered, similar to a teardrop, except that instead of reaching a point at the top, there was a round opening. He set it next to the oblong globe.

  “Which do you prefer, Graham Webb?”

  Graham rubbed away a drop of sweat that had trickled down his nose. “The first one, I suppose,” he said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve been cleanin’ lanterns all mornin’, so I’ve had a lot to look at. I suppose I like the taller ones the best.”

  Machin raised an eyebrow and muttered something under his breath.

  “Thank you for your opinion, Graham Webb,” he said aloud. “You may continue with your work.”

  “Is somethin’ the matter, Master Machin? Have I done somethin’ wrong?”

  “I don’t believe wrong is the proper word. Don’t worry, my boy.”

  “But you seem disappointed.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “You were lookin’ at me, so closely, as if you were waitin’ for somethin’ to happen.” Graham frowned. “And then it didn’t.”