NED PENNY STOOD with Four’s other lamplighter, the beanpole John Haywood, and wondered what the hell had happened. The lamps had been lit at 5 p.m., as usual. His duties included all the lights of Four as well as the thirteen along the long, straight path up to the gates of the market square. Haywood, a veteran from Virginia, had lit the twelve along the iron palisades that ran behind their block. The job was simple: when the oil needed lighting, you lit it; when the oil ran out, you replaced it; and if the weather blew out your flame, you came out and relit it. Sixpence a week said it was worth doing. But from the steps they could see that most of their lamps were out, while, as far as they could see, all the prison’s other lights were still lit.
‘Could be a mighty wind,’ said Pastor Simon, walking outside with the King next to him. ‘It’s blowin’ across the moor then funnellin’ straight through the middle o’ the camp.’
‘You reckon?’ said King Dick. ‘That kinda religious wind only happens in the Old Testament. And ain’t too usual in Devon. More likely they just ran outta oil. You check the lamps tonight?’ he called to Penny and Haywood. They both nodded.
‘Sure we did, King Dick.’
‘Well, looks like you need to go and light ’em again ’fore the British come round. Take some more oil jus’ in case.’ King Dick turned and went back inside.
Penny and Haywood trudged out, a lit taper and a jug of oil at the ready. They looped Four then walked along the palisade, lighting and cursing as they went.
‘All these lamps are full o’ goddamn oil,’ said Ned. ‘Ain’t nothin’ wrong with my wicks neither. Folk call me King Wick. You know that, John?’
Haywood laughed. ‘All hail, King Wick!’
Ned saluted Haywood as they cut back past Four, heading for the still-gloomy path to the market square. They walked passed the lit lamps, each one flaming healthily. ‘Ain’t nothin’ wrong with these,’ said Ned, ‘so what happened up here?’
The first extinguished lamp told them everything they needed to know. Its protective glass cover had been left open and the wick was wet. They looked down the line of lamps. They all looked the same.
‘This was done deliberate,’ said Haywood. ‘No doubt about it. No way did we leave all them lamps jus’ flappin’ like this. We got to tell King Dick.’
‘Let’s get ’em lit back up again,’ said Ned. ‘Then we tell him.’ One by one, they got each wick burning and carefully covered them with the glass.
‘That closed, Lamplighter Ned?’
‘That surely closed, Lamplighter John.’
They were at the penultimate lamp when John’s shoes slipped on something.
Ned lowered the taper to see what it was. ‘You know anyone in Four chews tobacco, John?’
John considered for a minute. ‘Mostly it’s the Allies, ain’t it? They prefer it to pipes.’
Instinctively, Ned glanced across to Six. ‘Well, tha’s what you slipped on, John. I’ll light this one and we can get back.’ Ned held the taper to the wick until it was dry enough to light.
‘I don’t like this, Ned. Somethin’s wrong here. Don’t take so damn long,’ said John, his voice urgent and low. ‘So what if we miss one goddamn lamp.’
Ned’s hand was cupping the taper. ‘Jus’ a few more seconds.’