Lamplighter Free Read!

Lamplighter

For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door,

And Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more;

And oh! before you hurry by with ladder and with light;

O Leerie, see a little child and nod to him to-night!

            The Lamplighter by Robert Louis Stevenson, 1885

Lesley was awoken by the power going out. For, in that moment, all the sounds of Jameson's workshop generator, the humming and whirling from Lesley's half-forgotten projects, the buzzing from the lamplights outside, and the rumbling of the streetcar all stopped. It was so silent and still, Lesley tapped the floor where he had fallen asleep, just to be sure he hadn't suddenly gone deaf.

Slowly, he sat up and looked around the work space. The high window, at street level, showed that it was almost evening. The orange sky was thick with evening fog. Lesley had spent most of the day down in Jameson's basement, helping the old man. He must have fallen asleep after Jameson went upstairs to close shop.

He stood up, stretching his aching back from sleeping on the hard floor. He fumbled in his vest for the time-piece the headmaster at the orphanage had given him. It was both a reward for receiving employment for the City's Grid Office and a subtle reminder that he was sixteen, had a stable income, and should really move out.

Lesley rubbed his thumb over the face of the pocket watch. It was cheap, but reliable. The orphanage couldn't force him out until he was seventeen, but he tried to spend as many days helping out in Jameson's shop. Lesley worked night shifts for the Grid, so at least he didn't need to go crawling back there for a bed. Though a decent sleep was something he had forgotten what was like.

A loud hissing sound pierced the still air and Lesley looked up to the window to hear someone swearing fluently. He grinned, pulling over a chair to pop his head out the basement window. It was later than he thought. But the sky this time of year stayed brighter, as the setting sun lit up the smog well into nightfall.

Along with the swearing came frustrated banging on a sheet of metal. Lesley had no doubt who it was. Lesley could see David kicking his streetcar in frustration. David was a tall, well built sort of man. He used to work down in the steam tunnels when he was younger, but was eventually was able to find a job above ground. Not an easy task for anyone in the Lower District. And while he was usually quite friendly, these night power outages broke down his livelihood. Already, the streetcar was empty, as everyone had left when the power went out.

Lesley wriggled his way forward so his head was less eye-level with the pavement. "Can I help?" he called into the strange silence, only echoed by David's frustration.

David looked up, taking off his conductor hat and goggles to better see who was shouting. He smiled as he spotted Lesley. "Nothing I can do about it until someone at the Grid decides to get off their lazy bums." He paused. "So why aren't you at work yet? They might actually send you down here to fix something for once!" He laughed bitterly.

Lesley rested his chin on his arms. "I'll be leaving soon. And you know they don't send anyone here if the priority areas aren't completely covered."

David had already turned around, nudging his boot against his dead streetcar. "Well, I hope those damn aristocrats have all the juice they need. I'm losing money out here!" He then began to kick his dark headlight, swearing into the silence again. While the street car had a personal steam generator, it also required electricity from the City Grid, running as cables overhead, in order to navigate up and down the hilly roads of the city. If the power had gone out while David had been at the other end of the street, he could have at least coasted down to his next checkpoint, which might still have power left in it. As it was, he was abandoned here, unable to make the climb to get out of the neighborhood.

Lesley straightened and closed his window, latching it. As much as he or David could complain about their work, they were lucky not to be underground. Most of Lesley's neighbors spent twelve to fourteen hours in the darkness of the steam tunnels, trying to keep the city running. They would be on their feet all during work, and come above ground to find their own streets have no power. They would have to walk home in the darkness, knowing they spent all day helping those of much greater means have power.

Lesley navigated the dim workshop, knowing that it could take hours before power was restored. He would have to return in the morning, after work, to help Jameson repair the projects that would now need the extra time. None of it was complicated, as it was mostly broken personal generators from others in the Lower District. But they needed power from the main Grid to troubleshoot and repair them.

Lesley didn't have much to gather. His equipment was kept at the Grid Office. He had few other possessions, just a jacket and change of clothes. The only thing he had of worth was a velocipede, which leaned against his wall in the alley next to Jameson's repair shop.

Lesley shrugged on his Grid jumpsuit, which he had brought with him. He finished half a sandwich that Jameson had made for him earlier. His stomach ached with hunger, but it would be many hours before he would be able to eat again. If he couldn't beg another meal off Jameson, he could always return to the orphanage's mess hall. But all that would have to wait until morning.

He ran a careless hand through his hair, grimacing at the texture. He could use the Grid's work washroom to bathe. Not that being clean was a necessary quality for Lesley. The purpose of the night shift Grid mechanics was to be invisible, which was part of the reason why Lesley hadn't had a haircut in far too long. It was a dirty blonde and getting long enough to curl around his ears and would soon be able to pull back into a small ponytail.

It would be a long time until Lesley needed to impress anyone by his appearance. If he was lucky, he would be working nights for many years now. And, perhaps in the next year, have enough money to rent an apartment in the Lower District. Until then, he would probably spend most days in the workshop to hone his skills. He didn't have the money for a trade school, so he had to prove to his employers he could do the job with his own sweat.

By the time he was outside, the power came back on. Lesley nodded to David, who was jubilantly starting up the streetcar, before hopping on his velocipede and riding it to the dispatch center of the Grid. It was night now and most of the day workers had arrived home. The streets were empty, besides for the few streetcars still running.

As he entered the city center, a few of the new motor vehicles passed by. Lesley looked at them longingly. Only the wealthiest could avoid the clanging, steam machines. But they could drive up to 30 mph and Lesley wished he had the space and time to build his own. As well as the considerable funds, of course.

He shook his head away from the motor vehicles. An apartment first; that was priority. Then he could have a real bed with a community bath and kitchen to use. There would be no more depending on Jameson's charity, or the orphanages grudging hospitality.

Putting his velocipede away, Lesley had very little time to wash up before reporting to the Grid office. Felix Garrison, Lesley's boss, was at the monitor as he arrived. Garrison was young for his position as Chief of Operations at the Grid. He was a talented engineer, tall and well built. With his wiry black hair and deep set eyes, he looked to be some rake from a gentleman club. But Lesley knew Garrisons mind was far from social circles and too embedded in his work.

The monitor was an intimidating machine was sensors, switches, and a whole host of strange noises. Though it actually only did a few operations; the main being directing the power harvest form the steam tunnels to the rest of the city. Another operation, which turned out to be the most time-consuming, was monitoring every lamplight in the city. And while it wasn't the most glamorous job for a mechanic, Lesley found most of his nights were spent running around the city fixing the faulty lamplights.

Garrison was writing a report next to the light board, which was constantly flickering with lamplight malfunctions. Lesley noticed that the neighborhood where his orphanage was located, in the Lower District, was almost black. But it was always like that. Streetlights in poverty areas tended to be vandalized for parts. Yet most mechanics from the Grid didn't have the time to fix them, because they were constantly sent out to the few broken lamps in priority areas.

"Power outage earlier," Lesley commented as he looked at the stuttering power flows to the Lower District.

Garrison shrugged. "Fourth block in the tunnels had a power surge. Needed to be shut down for six hours." He finished what he was writing and handed the paper to Lesley. "It'll take a few days to get it back under control."

Lesley looked at the document. "Ah, priority light duty tonight?"

Garrison was already tending the dials on the machine again. "BV12, BV14, and FG142 are malfunctioning."

Lesley looked down at the monitor, spying at least a couple dozen of malfunctioned lights in the Lower district. One street alone was almost black. But they would have to wait until the few broken lights in the wealthier districts had been repaired.

Lesley used to hate this aspect of his job, but now he had grown far too used to it. It was a simple matter of money. People in the Lower District didn't have money, people in the Upper District did. So even if the entire street was lit besides for one faulty light, Lesley would have to go there first.

Only riding a velocipede, even a few lights in the priority areas could take most of his shift. It was another reason he wished to have the time or money to make a motor vehicle. The speed could mean the difference between a few lights and a dozen.

Lesley tucked the paper away. "When do you get off work?" he asked.

Garrison didn't even turn around. "I'll probably be here all night."

"Didn't you work all day?"

The man shrugged. "Work needs to be finished."

Lesley shook his head but didn't reply. He found out rather quickly that Garrison was married to his work. He was only five and twenty, but he was brilliant. He was from a modest middle class family, but was respected by even the most austere aristocrats in the city.

When Garrison was promoted to Chief of Operations in the Grid, he revolutionized the place, making the power spread more efficient in just two months. Then he personally took on the project of lighting the city streets with lamplights, completing it in as little as two years, and built the operations monitor himself. While Lesley felt that he didn’t have much of a social life, he was miles from Garrison, who seemed to sleep under the operation's table most nights.

"Well, I'll see you later." Garrison shrugged and Lesley went to collect his tool kit.

The night was still warm, even this late in summer, as Lesley took off towards the wealthy side of the city. The further he traveled from the city center, the fresher the air smelled. More well-kept public parks sprang up and apartments turned to stately houses, separated by small lawns.

Even if the people here would never look twice at someone of Lesley's situation, he could still admire their clean, safe neighborhoods. The houses began to get larger and Lesley slowed to look over the small mansions, with three or more stories of decorated windows, quality woodwork, even polished roofs, and their lawns were big enough to drive a streetcar through them.

They all had high, black metal fences, ranging from elegantly decorated to simple and sturdy. While they allowed viewing to the street from the house, it was an effective way to keep out any unwanted guests. Politicians lived here, as well as lawyers, doctors, company owners, and their generations of wealthy decedents.

In the middle of the night, the manicured streets were empty, though a police man or a personal guard could be seen observing from certain corners. They stared at Lesley, but at least his uniform didn't make him a target. Most of the houses were dark, though well lit by the numerous functioning lamplights.

He finally turned down in the neighborhood of Fair Glen, and spotted the one light on the street that was dark. But as Lesley got closer, something was strange about it. As it was in shadows, he couldn't tell exactly what was wrong, but there seemed to be something attached to the top.

Lesley approached it slowly before stepping off his velocipede. There was no trash in this neighborhood; the streets were always swept clean. So for there to be something caught on the lamplight was slightly worrying. As he stepped up to the lamppost, it moved.

"Ah!" Lesley yelped and leaped back. It was some strange creature on the lamplight. In the deep shadows, it turned the small head towards Lesley, reaching out with unusually long claws. It was like some terrifying, mutated monkey.

"What was —Bradypus!" It was a voice from the other side of the fence, belonging to the house just behind the lamplight.

Lesley turned and spotted the well-dressed young man reaching between the bars of his high fence. He looked to be near Lesley's age, with tousled black hair and a dark smear across his cheek. Though he looked slightly disheveled, he wore the fine clothes of a gentleman.

"You know what that is?" Lesley asked dubiously, still backing away from the strange creature.

He laughed, a deep, rich sound. "He's my pet three-toed sloth, Bradypus. Do you mind grabbing him for me?" Expectantly, he reached out through the bars of the fence.

Lesley looked back the sloth, which had turned his head almost completely around to look at his owner. Slowly, it lifted the long arm out again and Lesley grimaced at the sight of the large claws on his fingers. "Is it…safe?"

"He's very friendly, I assure you. Besides, his top speed is .15 mph. If he decided to take a swing at you, I'm sure you would see it coming." The man was smirking at him, teasing.

Lesley frowned, but stepped forward. The sloth's small, squashed face turned to him, languidly reaching out. It had long, spindly arms and small hind legs. Lesley reached forward, fingers just barely touching the rough fur. Slowly the sloth climbed down enough to reach Lesley's shoulders.

He was heavier than Lesley realized. And despite the sharp claws that pricked though Lesley's uniform, the sloth was surprisingly gentle. He wrapped his long arms around Lesley's neck, and let himself be cradled. This close, the sloth had dark markings around his face, making a droopy, almost silly expression.

Lesley took him to the fence. "What a strange creature," he murmured.

The man nodded, reaching forward to help disentangle the sloth from Lesley. "Yes. My father found Bradypus in South America some years back and gave him to be as a gift." He managed to pull the sloth through the bars, and arrange him to be on his back. "As slowly as he moves, you would think I could keep track of him. But I've been in my workroom most of the night and lost track of time." He smiled, rubbing the flat head resting on his shoulder. He turned back to Lesley. "Thank you for your assistance. My name is Albert Kensington."

Lesley immediately stiffened. The Kensingtons was the most prominent family in the city. Julius Kensington was the chief Architect for the City and the wealthiest citizen. They owned much of the land in the countryside and businesses that ran the city, including the Grid. Lesley gave a jerking, embarrassed bow. He had never been in the presence of someone so powerful.

"Lesley Thompson, sir. I work for the Grid as maintenance engineer."

Albert looked unconcerned by Lesley's embarrassment. "Wait…how old are you? I mean to say, aren't you a little young to be working for the city?"

Lesley fought down an embarrassed flush. Of course, Albert probably wouldn't be expected to work until he was twenty. And even then, he would never be asked to work long hard hours in the middle of the night. "I am sixteen, sir. It is an appropriate age to being working for someone of my status."

Suddenly, it was Albert that looked to be embarrassed. He backtracked quickly. "Oh? Come to fix that lamplight there?"

Lesley nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll get on that right away." He whirled around.

"Wait, there's no rush!" Albert reached through the bars and managed to seize the back of Lesley's uniform, making him stumble backwards against the fence. "You helped me with Bradypus, I owe you at least a small break from your duties."

Lesley looked up to Albert smiling down at him. He had bright green eyes, Lesley realized, before quickly straightening himself. "It is not necessary, sir."

Albert leaned through the fence, waving one hand. "No 'sir'. You make me feel like I'm forty. I'm only eighteen. My name is Albert."

"Y-yes, of course." Lesley couldn't dream of just casually using the given name of a Kensington. He stood there, stiffly, wondering what he should say. In daylight, he would never be allowed in an area just as this, especially talking to a man with a status such as his.

Albert either didn't notice how uncomfortable Lesley was, or chose to ignore it. He tilted his head. "Do you work most nights?"

Lesley nodded. "It is my regular shift."

"Do you enjoy it?"

Lesley nodded again.

Albert smiled. "I'm jealous. I love working at night, but unfortunately my responsibilities and my family require me to be awake during the day."

"Ah, well, it is quite late, so I shall leave you to return to bed." Lesley tried to turn again, but the hand that reached out grasped his elbow this time.

"I wasn't sleeping anyway. I told you, I have been in my workroom until now." He frowned. "Are you so eager to return to your work?"

Albert's eyes were slightly hurt and Lesley looked away, uncomfortably. "N-no, I simply wish not to waste your time, sir."

"Albert."

"Of course."

A chuckle and Lesley looked up to see Albert grinning at him, his green eyes light. Slowly, he let go of his elbow. "Well, I suppose I could talk to you from here, if you wish to examine the lamplight."

Lesley nodded and managed not to stumble as he picked up his equipment. Albert didn't speak until Lesley had begun to undo the locks to open up the main compartment of the lamplight.

"Do you remember what it was like before these powered lamplights?" Albert started conversationally.

Lesley nodded, unsure what to say. The Lower District had the oil lamplights only until the past two years. The priority areas, such as this street, were to first to test out the automated ones. It was probably five years or more since Albert saw the old style.

"I used to love watching the old lamplighters coming out here at dusk. There was something romantic about that solitary man, slowly lighting up the entire street by himself, I suppose." He laughed softly. "My father thought I was some sort of idiot."

Another silence and Lesley tried to concentrate on his work. Albert's voice was smooth and friendly. He wished he knew what to say to such a man. He also wondered why Albert was speaking to him at all. Surely, if he did not want to retire for the night, he would at least want to return to more important activities than talking to a mechanic from the Grid?

"Do you have any family, Lesley?"

Lesley stiffened. "I do not."

"Truly? I am sorry. May I ask when they passed?"

Lesley had managed to find the problem with the lamplight. The automatic trigger that told the light when to turn on and off had burnt out. Luckily, it would be simple to replace. "I never knew them," he answered softly.

Albert was silent for a moment. "Ah…I'm sorry."

Orphans weren't uncommon in the Lower District. With lower wages and rough living conditions, many adults did not live long. But Lesley was orphaned for a rather common reason; his parents couldn't afford to feed him. He had been lucky, to have a headmaster willing to let him stay, even as he was getting older. And he was lucky to have Jameson take him under his wing and teach him a trade, though Lesley was little more than free labor to him.

There was a long silence between them then and Lesley wondered if Albert just realized how very far apart their social situations were. "I'm sorry, I've been a cad."

Lesley looked up, surprised. "What?"

Albert was looking at his sloth, stroking the small head slowly. "You are sixteen, yes? I'm sure they'll be wanting you to be independent now. That's why you work this shift?" His voice was hesitant and he didn’t look at Lesley. "I've heard of…many cases like yours. But look where you are now, eh?"

Lesley slowly looked away, rummaging through his tools, though he had no need of any of them. He wasn't sure if Albert was pitying him or complimenting him on surviving a childhood that so many couldn't. "Repairing lamplights isn't that glamorous."

"Perhaps, but not everyone could do it. In fact, I don't think most of my father's associates could even change a bulb without assistance."

Lesley snorted, before he caught himself. “I'm sure the Chief Architect has plenty of brilliant men working under him."

Albert grinned at Lesley's small slip. "Well, I suppose his underlings are competent. But his friends? Most of those politicians and business men don't know the difference between a circuit and a conduit."

Lesley let out a small smile. He had met plenty of the shareholders than would come to the Grid to 'monitor' their activities. All they could really do was stand there and nod as Garrison talked circles around them. "I do have a good mentor," he murmured.

"Really? Who is he?" Albert was leaning through the fence again, and his face seemed so genuinely eager that Lesley couldn't help but answer.

"No one you would recognize, I'm sure. His name is Harold Jameson and he owns a small repair shop. He mostly fixes personal generators for families in the Lower District. He was a full trained mechanic, but he insisted on helping those who could not pay the rates he could have had elsewhere." Lesley felt his hands still on the levers he was currently tending to. "When he saw I had an interest, he took me in, I guess. He just lets me observe and maybe dabble a little in his projects. It is…a nice place to go when I don’t want to return to the orphanage." He suddenly felt a little self-conscious. What would Albert care about some Lower District repair man? Lesley's words turned rushed. "When I've made enough money I'll pay for my own apartment and be on my own at last."

Lesley wondered if he said too much, and quickly began to close up the lamplight. When he looked up, however, Albert was still staring at him interestedly. "That's pretty amazing. I don't think my parents would ever let me leave, even if I could make enough money. They do not believe me capable of taking care of myself." He grinned. "There is a small benefit to your life. Freedom, I suppose."

Lesley flushed. "Perhaps. But freedom is not always safe. I do see more benefit in parents who wish to keep you close."

Albert ducked his head, looking a little embarrassed. "Lesley, I do believe you have humbled me more times tonight than my own mother."

Lesley stared at him, unsure what to say. But Albert moved past his embarrassment and continued to speak.

"Does your work mostly include fixing broken lamplights?"

Lesley shrugged. "Yes, generally. The operations machine at the Grid will tell us when a lamplight is malfunctioning."

Albert smiled. "Well, I hope to see you around then, Lesley." He shifted the sloth more comfortably on his shoulders before turning back to head inside his home.

Lesley slowly put away his things, wondering at the strange conversation.

***

"FG142." Garrison held out the form to Lesley. "Malfunctioning again. Did you notice anything unusual about it last time?"

Lesley slowly took the paper. "No, just a trigger burn out." He looked at the number of the lamp, just to be sure. It was Albert's house again. It had only been two nights since they last spoke. Lesley was convinced that Albert must have been terribly bored, so engage in such a conversation with the lamplight mechanic.

Garrison nodded. "Well, have a look at the entire compartment to see if anything else might suddenly fail."

Lesley made his way back to Albert's neighborhood hesitantly. He didn't think he would be back here so soon. He couldn't help but wonder if he would run into Albert again. The man had been strange, but friendly. Though Lesley admitted to being some poor, orphan mechanic, Albert hadn't seemed to mind.

The lamp was dark and Lesley approached it slowly again, this time looking towards the fence that stood between the walkway and the house. It was earlier tonight than the other night. Lights were on in the house. From an open window, Lesley could hear a woman's laughter.

The sound struck Lesley. She sounded young and had a rather pleasant laugh. Could she be a sister of Albert? Perhaps even a fiance. It was rather common for aristocrats to be engaged at a young age. Not that it was Lesley's business. Albert might have chatted with him, but it was far from flirting…

Lesley flushed and turned quickly to the lamp. He all but ripped off the access panel. He should not think of Albert flirting with him. Albert was a gentleman and—

"My lamplighter has returned!" The voice was loud and teasing, but Lesley was so startled he dropped his tool kit, scattering his equipment them across the pavement.

He looked up to see Albert again at the fence. He was dressed nicer, in a dinner jacket and loose tie. Irrationally, Lesley thought he had looked better with the dark smear across his cheek and clothes unsuitably rumpled. "G-good evening, sir," Lesley stammered, struggling to pick his things up.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to startle you. I did not expect you so early; the lamp broke down only twenty minutes ago."

"Ah, well, I just clocked into my shift and—"

"You couldn't wait to see me?"

Lesley looked up quickly and found Albert grinning through the fence. He couldn't read the expression, if it was just playful teasing or if it was flirting—Lesley shook his head violently. Albert was just being kind; Lesley had no right to think such base things.

"My boss just wants to make sure I've properly fixed the lamp this time," he murmured, turning back to the lamp's mechanism.

"Hmm? Well, you never know with machines like these. Especially automated, they can break down so easily," Albert commented and Lesley could feel his eyes on him.

Lesley strove to ignore the way the back of his neck heated. The problem was a bit more complicated this time. He could see the trigger moving, as it tried to send a spark to the bulb to light it, but something wasn't connecting right. Lesley began to try to remove excess panels, so he could have a better look at it.

"What do you do when you're off work?"

Lesley's hand stuttered, but he managed to answer calmly enough. "I stop by Jameson's to see if he needs me for anything. Most often I stay in his workroom for most of the day."

Albert frowned. "Do you sleep?"

Lesley shrugged. "If Jameson doesn't need me. Yes."

A chuckle and Lesley found himself look up to Albert's lingering smile. Even with the lamp not working, his eyes seemed to sparkle. "Really? No other hobbies?"

Lesley shrugged. He didn't have much time after work and Jameson's to do anything else with the daylight hours. Besides, he was trying to save as much money as he could.

Albert smirked. "No lover either then?"

Lesley felt himself go hot and he turned away again. "I do not have time for…things like that."

He desperately wanted to change the conversation. "Where is Bradypus tonight?"

"Ah, I took him to Kerry Park this afternoon. All the attention made him terribly exhausted. Do you ever go to Kerry Park?"

Lesley hesitated. While no public park was off limits to any citizen, Kerry Park was rather affluent in its visitors. If Lesley would to walk there is daylight, he would be immediately accosted and taken away, for some reason or another. "I've only been there a few times." He had, after all, had to repair some of the lamps there at one time or another.

"Really? When is your next day off? We should meet there. I could bring Bradypus and his—"

"I don't get days off." Lesley cut in shortly. He knew Albert wasn't trying to be mean, but his words were a little condescending. Lesley could never go to that park, even to meet with Albert and his strange pet. Besides Lesley really didn't get time off. He took all the shifts he could, since he was only allowed to work nights.

"Oh," Albert sounded so disappointed that Lesley found himself standing and bowing apologetically.

"You must excuse me, sir. But we both know very well that a man of your situation shouldn't affiliate with a man like me. I'm sure your peers and the lady inside your home would appreciate you ignoring me as is normal." Lesley didn't mean to hurt Albert, but he just didn't understand why he insisted on talking to Lesley.

When he looked up, Albert was frowning. "Come here, Lamplighter," he suddenly ordered.

Lesley found himself stepping forward automatically, wondering if he had gone too far. Was Albert going to call the authorities? Was he going to strike Lesley? He stood less than a foot from Albert, only the black bars of the fence separating them.

"Do you want to know what I like to do in my free time?" Lesley blinked, confused by the question, but Albert continued. "I tinker. I build things. Sometimes small things, like clocks or lamps. Sometimes larger things. But I was raised to think that a gentleman should not dirty his hands with oil and grease, or cut himself on sharp edges, or strain his muscles building things that could be made by 'lesser' men. But I do it anyway, even if my father wishes I would spend more time talking to his associates at parties. Or going out and making connections with other important people. Or at least putting my efforts into scholarly work like other boys my age. But you want to know something? When I run out of materials for my projects, I go to the lower district, because they have the most unusual parts and will sell to me without giving me grief for my hobbies."

His green eyes seemed to be getting brighter as his voice rose with passion. Lesley found himself bowing his head. But Albert's arm reached out and seized his collar, forcing him to look up and meet his gaze.

His voice was tense as he continued. "And when I go to the park with Bradypus, I am scorned for not having a more fashionable pet, like a dog or even a spider monkey. Though, truly, there are few differences between Bradypus and some fine lady's spider monkey. And the woman inside my house, which you no doubt heard laughing, is my housekeeper. She is a dear friend of the family who was recently engaged, so my father gave her the evening off to socialize with the other maids." He paused, his grip slackening, and looked so suddenly saddened. "I'm not from the Lower District. I know that I could not understand the hardships of your life, or so many lives like your own. I know I must seem naive or spoiled. But trust me when I say, I do not mean to be. But do not think me so heartless that I would refuse to associate with someone as intriguing as you just because you were born on a different street." His voice stopped and he dropped his arm. "But I would not force my company if you find it so undesirable." He began to turn. "I'm sorry for taking your time, Lesley."

Lesley felt like he was in shock. He had never heard a gentleman proclaim such things. Of course, he believed it of Albert, he had already proved to be friendly and eccentric. But as Albert turned from him, Lesley found a numbed arm reaching through the fence and grabbing the fabric of his suit coat.

Albert stuttered to a halt and Lesley immediately let go. "I'm sorry!" he blurted. Albert turned to stare at him, eyes a little disbelieving. Lesley bit his lip. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I did not mean…I mean…" He ran a hand through his hair, getting his fingers tangled in the ends. "I've just never been looked at by someone of your station, nonetheless talked to. I couldn't tell if you were teasing me, if you were bored, or just…"

"…genuinely interested? Is it so hard to believe that I would be intrigued by you?" Albert's voice was soft, but no longer hurt sounding.

Lesley flushed. "Or anyone," he muttered. He suddenly looked away, feeling exceptionally nervous. "I work all night, every night. And I work most days. When I'm not working, I sleep. The only people, outside of work, that I talk to regularly are Jameson and the man who drives the street car in my neighborhood. I'm unused to anyone taking much notice in me."

Lesley knew so many orphans who, like himself, just faded into the background of the city. They were unwanted, extras, and considered burdens even by the kindest of orphanages. It was easier to be unnoticed. It hurt less to be ignored.

"I haven't the practice of socializing," he whispered, ashamed.

Albert examined him for a moment, his head tilted. "You know, when I was a child, I had a weak body. For years, I couldn't leave the house, or even my own bed. I didn't have many friends to talk to; only my parents, my sister, and my nurse." He sighed. "I always wished for friends of my own. People I could really talk to. I guess you could say that I've been trying to make up for lost time, now that I'm strong enough...but I don't think I ever quite learned the codes of society. And, sometimes, I feel…weak, again."

He trailed off and a silence rose up between them. Not comfortable, necessarily, but compatible. Lesley wondered if Albert had not crossed the fence to speak to him because his family had never let him before. He said he was stronger now, but did his family believe it? Did he?

Lesley had thought Albert was a bit of a spoiled aristocrat, though he had good intentions. But Lesley conceded that some lives, even lives filled with wealth and power, could still be difficult.

Perhaps it came down to that Lesley never had enough attention, while Albert had too much.

Lesley looked at Albert, who wouldn't meet his gaze, and felt a strange surge of companionship. He wasn't some adult pitying Lesley, he was a young man, like him, trying to make his own path in the world.

Albert sighed and suddenly waved his hand. His voice took on a false brightness "But enough about that…you say you work all the time? What are you trying to save up for? If you don't mind me asking."

Lesley knew that they had both unintentionally hit a raw nerve. It would be best to ignore it. "I would like a place of my own. An apartment or even a rented room."

Albert's smile was still strained. "That is very practical, just as it would be practical for me to network with my father’s friends." The smile suddenly softened into something more real. "How about something crazy? For instance, I would like to run a full locomotive steam engine one day. Do you ever dream like that?"

Lesley looked away, unable to meet Albert's eyes, which seemed oddly fragile. "I would like to build a motor vehicle one day." He flushed. "I know that it would be difficult for someone untrained like myself. But I think I could do it, if I had the space and materials."

Albert stepped back to the fence, smiling more broadly. "Well, that sounds like more fun. Whenever you find yourself in that position, drop by and show it off to me, alright?"

Lesley looked at him shyly. "I suppose, sir."

"And I suppose that means, for now, we can only meet while you're working on the lamplight, correct?"

Lesley shrugged. "I suppose, sir."

Albert snorted and shoved him away gently. "Well, get back to your work, Lamplighter, and tell me about your plans for your very own motor vehicle. What style of steam engine would you construct?"

Lesley, for being shocked and flustered, felt a small smile creep onto his face. He decided he shouldn't question Albert's friendliness. If the man was as interested as he said, Lesley should embrace that friendship. Still smiling, he turned back to the lamplight.

"You know, my name isn't Lamplighter."

"And mine isn’t 'sir', but still we insist."

***

Lamp FG142 seemed to have been made very poorly. For two weeks, every night, the lamp had gone black. Yet, it was always for a different reason. While, for a short time Garrison thought Lesley had been performing his tasks incorrectly, he had been quickly convinced after he had gone out a few nights and saw the strange phenomenon for himself.

It was now almost a habit. Lesley would come into work and Garrison would hand him the forms on FG142 because it was broken, yet again. Lesley would head out to the neighborhood, inevitably run into Albert, have a friendly conversation, and then report back to the Grid to get started on the rest of the night's work. And though it was tedious, constantly having to repair the same lamplight every night, Lesley couldn't help but enjoy the evening ritual with Albert.

He couldn't help but find Albert was fascinating. While he obviously came from very wealthy roots, he spoke like anyone from the Lower District. He seemed to be in the know about the conditions in the steam tunnels, the frequency of Lower District blackouts, and just about how everything worked, from a personal generator to a motor vehicle. Lesley had never met another gentleman who possessed this kind of knowledge. Of course, there were some wealthy men who knew how to fix an engine, but they usually came for meager roots and worked their way into success, like Garrison.

Albert was a Kensington, and according to his birthright, should be spending every day at lavish parties, overseeing servants, and watching his family's investments make money. However, he seemed to spend a great deal of his time talking to people like Lesley, and tinkering in his own workroom on various projects.

Lesley lay dozing on his cot in the orphanage, daydreaming about his conversations with Albert. He was watching the time tick down on his timepiece until he would have to get up and get ready for work. He had been to Jameson's that morning, but the old man didn't have much work for him. So Lesley had left for the midday meal at the orphanage and catch up on a little sleep in the afternoon.

Not that Lesley slept much these days. Between work, Jameson, and instances with Albert, he only had time to lie down for about four hours of unbroken rest most days. Lesley didn't mind, however, and he gazed at his timepiece in eager anticipation. Every day was closer to Lesley getting enough money that he wouldn't have to return to the crowded orphanage. Or turn to Jameson when he needed a spare meal or some peace to tinker in his workshop.

The clock ticked and Lesley slowly sat up, tucking it into his pocket. He stepped from his cot, smoothing the covers. When he was younger, he used to have a cot of his own in the boys dormitory. Now, whenever he dropped by, he just took any place that was open. He didn't have many acquaintances left there anymore. He never made very close friends because children never lasted long in the orphanage. A few were adopted. Many went to work in the steam tunnels as soon as they could swing a wrench. And the rest…just fell away. From illness, injury, violence, gangs, or just disappearing into the darker corners of the Lower District. When Lesley had entered the orphanage as a toddler, he had been put with over twenty boys his age. Now only a few of them still returned to the orphanage between the working hours.

Lesley was lucky to be here. To have a place to sleep, a meal if he needed it, and a job to give himself purpose. And now he had a friend in Albert. He didn't mind only having a few hours of sleep every night or a little less than one meal a day. He felt blessed and he could hardly wait until he would clock into work and see if he was lucky for one more day.

But tonight, unlike other nights, Lesley couldn't look forward to spending time with Albert. FG142 was not malfunctioning as Lesley walked up to the operations. It had happened on two other occasions, but Lesley couldn't help but be slightly disappointed.

Instead, Garrison faced him down with a much different request. "We had a call from the authorities. Apparently LD335, LD334, and LD332 have been tampered with. They are sparking and might catch fire. They want a mechanic to look at them."

Lesley took the job apprehensively. Those were Lower District lamps. It was not uncommon for them to be de-constructed for parts, but whoever did it was obviously inexperienced. If they were sending off sparks, it would be dangerous.

When Lesley came down the street, it was dark, besides for a few apartment lights still on. Garrison had turned off the power, so the lamps were no longer active. Lesley could remotely switch on the power himself, but he had to make sure the lamps were safe first. It didn't help that he felt a little intimidated by the dark street in one of the more dangerous area of the Lower District.

While some Grid mechanics could carry weapons for self protection, Lesley was definitely not qualified for that. He suddenly wished that he had insisted on bringing someone else with, but the night shift was always spread so thinly, that he hadn't thought of it.

Lesley found the problem easily; some damaged valves. Obviously someone had tried to cut them to harvest the precious copper inside, but had failed; probably due to incorrect tools for taking apart lamplights. They were easy enough to replace.

Lesley made it to the third lamp with no incident and wondered if he had been worried for no reason. But as he was standing up to bring back power to the lamps, he was jumped.

"Ah!" Lesley fell hard to the ground and found the wind knocked out of him by a heavy body. Whoever jumped him scrambled off and dove for Lesley's tool kit. He was a large man dressed in tattered clothes. He looked to be very poor, if not homeless. "Stop! Don't touch that!" Lesley managed to sit up and reach over to stop the man, but was rewarded with a sharp punch to his jaw. Lesley reeled backwards, but refused to back down.

The tool kit was valuable. Even if it was stolen, the lost money would be taken from Lesley's wages. It would practically deplete his earnings for the next few months. He managed to stand to his feet and tackle the man. Lesley wasn't much of a fighter and punched wildly. He thought briefly of calling for the authorities. But unlike the priority areas, the police didn't simply wander the streets here.

The man had stopped moving under Lesley and he quickly scrambled off to retrieve his things and get the hell out of there. He was tripped and felt a harsh blow against the back of his head. The world, which had been very dark, went white for a moment. But he found his body automatically reacting to stand back up. The man had his tool kit in hand and blindly reached inside and struck Lesley with the first instrument he found.

This turned out to be his sharpened metal filer, used mostly to shave down old gears that had rusted together. Though not intended to be a weapon, Lesley felt it dig deeply into his cheek and he gasped, dropping to his knees. The man disappeared into the night and Lesley groaned in pain and frustration.

He looked around, but the street was empty, no one had even opened their apartment windows to see what the scuffle had been. Of course, Lesley would expect that. If he had been awoken by the sounds of two men fighting in the street, he would have probably tried to ignore it as well rather than getting involved.

He staggered to his feet, pressing his sleeve against his cheek. He was ruining his uniform, but that hardly mattered. His cheek hurt, his jaw throbbed, and he knew by his sudden headache that he would have a lump on the back of his head by morning. But he had lost his tool kit. If Garrison was kind, he might be lent another one for the rest of the night, but likely he would be sent home early. He would miss half a night's wages, not counting that he would be paying out of his pocket for a few months now.

Lesley staggered to his velocipede and resisted the urge to cry. He felt ashamed, to be sixteen and so near tears in the middle of the street. He had grown up here, goddammit. He knew what dangers lurked in shadowed streets; he knew hunger, homelessness, and what it was like to be randomly mugged. Yet, it had been so long since Lesley experienced a setback like this…it only seemed to hurt more. He had forgotten had easily everything could be taken away from him.

He mounted his velocipede and began to pedal down the street. His head pounded in his ears, and the street kept wavering. But the air was cool tonight, and he gulped it eagerly, hoping to soothe it all away. He wasn't looking forward to returning to the Grid, so he continued to wander the streets, wondering just how long it would take to make back all the money he lost.

But as he rode, Lesley found he was drifting closer and closer to Albert's neighborhood. He knew he had no reason to be there, but he couldn't help but look at FG142, just to see if it was really working tonight. It was quite late, later than Lesley had ever come to the neighborhood, but he wondered if Albert was still up, possible tinkering in his workroom as he did so many nights.

FG142 was fully functional as Lesley road up to it. But he didn't look closely at it. Instead, he walked up next to Albert's fence and gazed up at the dark house. Albert's lawn was something of a marvel, with a full garden and many trees. It was expensive to maintain such foliage, with the frequent acid rains that happened at the end of summer. But Albert said it was because Bradypus like to climb real trees, once in awhile.

It was empty now, and the trees were shadows in the silence of the night. Lesley sighed deeply, wondering what he was doing. Leaning against the fence, he sat down on the pavement, staring at the lamp lit before him. He touched his cheek and looked down at his sleeve, wincing at the blood. It was an unfortunately deep cut and hadn't stopped bleeding yet. He was sure that if a policeman were to walk around the corner, he would arrest Lesley just for the state of his appearance.

"Lesley?" Albert's voice suddenly came from behind him.

Lesley quickly stood, feeling embarrassed. He didn't want to turn around, knowing Albert would be disgusted. Coming here at been a very bad idea, but Lesley wasn't feeling completely rational at the moment. "My apologies, sir. I seem to be loitering. I'll be leaving now."

"What? Was the lamp broken again?" Albert sounded startled. "Are you alright, Lesley?"

Lesley resisted the urge to press his sleeve against his face again. His arm flinched anyway. "I'm sure I've disturbed your rest, sir."

"No, I wasn't sleeping. I was—is that blood on your arm?" Albert sounded a little horrified and Lesley automatically turned around, waving his hand.

"It's nothing! Really! I was just checking up and I—"

Albert's eyes were wide, staring at Lesley's face. He realized his mistake too late and pressed his sleeve against his cheek, falling silent. He felt like some fool, coming here. What was he trying to do? Beg for pity?

"I'm sorry," Lesley whispered.

Albert, after getting over his initial shock, reached forward through the fence. "Come here. Let me look at that."

Lesley didn't move. "It's nothing—"

"Nothing my ass, now get over here."

Lesley started forward, surprised at Albert's curse. He didn't say anything as he stood before the fence. He couldn't meet Albert's eyes, feeling ashamed. He shouldn't be here. He had no reason to be here.

But he wanted to be here. Mugged, bruised, and battered…he just really wanted to see Albert. And the thought frightened Lesley.

Albert reached out and pulled Lesley closer, until his body was pressed against the bars of the fence. With a rough hand he pushed Lesley chin up to get a better look. Lesley flinched, his jaw tender.

"Sorry," Albert murmured, his fingers softening. His brow was furrowed with concern and his green eyes pensively looked at the damage. A thumb touched the edge of the scratch on the cheek and Lesley hissed in pain. "What happened?" Albert asked softly.

Lesley's hands clenched the bars of the fence, feeling uncomfortably close to Albert. "Just a normal mugging in the Lower District."

Albert frowned, and then started reaching into his jacket, searching for something. "Normal? Do they not give you Grid workers something to protect yourself?" His voice was harsh.

Lesley shrugged, looking down. He changed the subject. "I'm sorry for waking you, sir."

"Stop apologizing, already," Albert muttered, sounding more than a little annoyed. "I told you, I was already up." He fumbled around more in his vest pockets. "Dammit, where is—ah! Found it." He pulled out a small wooden box. He opened it to reveal some sort of white paste inside.

"What is that?"

"Wound ointment. It will keep that cut from getting infected. Though going to a doctor would probably be better, but something tells me that you won't."

Lesley looked away. Doctors were expensive, even in the Lower District, and not always very legitimate. Most people living in poorer areas never went to one, if they could help it. Albert sighed in resignation and reached around to cradle the back of Lesley's head in his hand.

"Here, I'll apply it. It will probably hurt. The cut is very deep."

Lesley let the hand tilt his head, but had to close his eyes. Albert's face was very close to his now and they were all but pressed up against each other with the thin bars of the fence a poor barrier between them. Albert tentatively started at the edge of the wound and Lesley tried not to move. But as he began to rub it in more thoroughly, Lesley couldn't help but gasp in pain.

With the hand that held his head, Albert began to massage his neck slightly. Lesley opened his eyes to stare at him. Albert's eyes were soft as they concentrated. "There's a numbing agent in it, so it will stop hurting soon."

Lesley gripped the fence with white hands. "Why do you have this on you?"

Albert grinned. "You know I tinker with machines. Accidents are inevitable. I save myself the trouble of constantly returning upstairs by having this on hand for all minor injuries."

The wound are starting to hurt a little less and Lesley relaxed. The fingers massaging his neck felt good. He closed his eyes again and felt incredibly tired. "Thank you."

A deep sigh. "Will you at least tell me what happened? Did you call the authorities? Did anyone witness it?"

Lesley shook his head. "It was just some homeless guy, probably. He had damaged some of the lamps and I had to go out and fix them. The power had been turned off, so no one could see what happened, even if they decided to look."

"He had a weapon?"

Lesley shook his head slightly. "No, he had gotten my tool kit. He used my metal file against me."

Albert sighed again. "Let me guess, he also stole the tool kit?"

Lesley nodded. "Yes, I'll have to pay for it I suppose..." It was hitting him again that he had lost it. He flinched, subduing the urge to just fall to his knees and cry, but Albert still held him steady. He would have to soon return to work, face Garrison, and look forward to several months of debt."I should probably go."

He was about to pull away from the fence, but Albert's thumb across his chin stilled him. His cheek had stopped hurting, but he still felt tender. He looked up to find those green eyes staring at his face so intensely, he found himself holding his breath.

Lesley opened his mouth to speak, but found wander fingertips against his lips, touching softly. The hand behind his head titled and Lesley found his face looking up. He couldn't read Albert's expression, though there seemed to be some strange, sad longing within it. Lesley wondered again why he had been up this late. If he really was just tinkering, or if there was something more? Perhaps Albert had been laying his bed, staring at his own timepiece, waiting for the hours to pass.

Maybe, just maybe, Albert had wanted to see him too.

"Lesley, I…" His voice was hesitant. Lesley had to resist leaning forward, as they were already far too close.

"Albert?" he whispered, but Albert only leaned forward and took whatever else he had to say with a tentative kiss.

Albert's lips were smooth, soft, and so gentle that Lesley felt his body quivering at the sensation. Albert's hands moved to press against his shoulder blades, pulling Lesley even more against the fence. Lesley's hand gripped the bars ever tighter, afraid if he let go he just might embrace Albert back.

Albert's mouth moved over his chin. Lesley could feel the blunt teeth and hot tongue, and no more pain. He felt himself rise to his toes as Albert explored further, nibbling down his neck. "Don't," he murmured against Lesley's skin, "don't even think it."

"Think what?" Lesley gasped. The hand had moved back to his head, pressing him into another kiss from Albert. He felt the world go numb and soft, lost in the sensation of such a tender mouth.

Albert, eventually, pulled back. His eyes were bright, shining from the lamplight. "Regret."

Lesley stared at him. His body was so lax that he was barely held up against the fence. Albert wasn't smiling, not exactly. But somehow he looked very pleased, or maybe just content. But the bars of the fence suddenly felt icy against Lesley's hands. The fence that separated them seemed so open, at times, but it was still a barrier.

Lesley looked down, bowing his head low. "I need to go back to work," he whispered. And, for some reason, it sounded like an excuse.

"Will you come back?"

Lesley couldn't tell the meaning of the note in Albert's voice. Something like desperation or longing or hope or many things that Lesley knew shouldn't be applied to him.

"I need to go." And he pulled himself free from the fence.

***

For one week, FG142 broke every night, but Lesley did not attend to it. Sam, who had been recently moved to the night shift, was sent out to take care of it. After a week, FG142 broke only a few times, then none at all. It seemed Sam had the touch and the lamp was finally working on a consistent basis.

Lesley hadn't gone back to Albert's since the incident. He knew there was not a vindictive bone in Albert's body. He would not be so cruel as to kiss Lesley on a childish whim or in some sort of impulsive jest. No, Lesley knew that Albert kissed him because he was serious. It meant he actually cared for Lesley and that terrified him.

That night, he had come back to the Grid in a daze, before being accosted by Garrison on his appearance. He had been gone for so long that Garrison was beginning to wonder if he had been killed. It was a rare moment of worrying on Garrison's part, but there was still the matter that Lesley had lost his tool kit. He was immediately sent home.

That morning, Lesley returned to the orphanage, not wanting to burden Jameson at the moment. It was early enough that the other boys living his is dormitory had yet to wake for the day. His cot looked barren, even more than when he left it earlier in the night. The blanket had been stolen from it, as well has his pillow. A common occurrence in the over populated orphanage. The mattress remained and Lesley fell into it gratefully.

He kept going over in his head about the loss of his personal funds. How long it would take to rebuild them? How many extra shifts he could pick up to make up the time?

He had rolled over, not bothering to take off his dirtied uniform, but adjusted it so he could sleep easier. Then something had fallen out of the pocket. It was a wad of bills, crumpled together and shoved in haphazardly. Lesley knew his pockets were empty when his shift started. He carefully counted the bills to find it had been the most money he had ever held in his life. It would easily pay off the tool kit, he quickly realized, with extra to spare.

He also quickly realized that Albert must have slipped in his pocket when he was kissing him.

He didn't know how he could possibly repay him. Though he was sure Albert wouldn't want to be actually paid back, Lesley wouldn't know how to properly express his gratitude. He also couldn't believe that Albert just so happen to have that much money randomly on his person. It made Lesley feel…insignificant.

So Lesley didn't return to Albert's neighborhood. He didn't know how he could face him. No one had ever shown Lesley such great affection while asking for so little in return. Life was simple before Albert. Lesley just worked and slept, that was all. Of course, he missed their conversations terribly. It was the first true friendship Lesley ever had. He felt as if he could say anything to Albert, about his goals, working with Jameson, and what it was like at the Grid. And Albert's life was equally as interesting with his strange mixture of hobbies as well as his social obligations.

But now Lesley was sitting alone at the Grid, only a few minutes into his shift, waiting for some of the lights on the monitor to flicker out. There had been another power outage in the Lower District. Garrison went with Sam to oversee the issues. Lesley was left to repair any other problems that would arise in their absence.

Besides for the huge black sections of the Lower District, every light blazed clearly. Lesley leaned against the console, wishing things had gone differently. He wished Albert hadn't kissed him. He wished he hadn't kissed him back. It just gave him a taste of a life they could never have. Illicit kisses past midnight on an empty street were one thing, but Lesley could never walk the same circles as Albert. He wouldn't know the manners, the people, the education, or the customs.  And it would be cruel to ask Albert to come to Lesley's station.

It was easier to ignore it all and hope Albert would also reconsider the idea. Not that Lesley could confirm this as he wouldn't let himself return…

FG142 had gone dark.

"Damn," Lesley swore, looking around the Grid. As if someone else would emerge to take care of it. He sighed, reaching over to grab the documents to fill out the proper form. Slowly, he wrote down the time, the lamplight number, his name, and some other stats for the records. He never formally went to school, but he had been at the Grid long enough he could fill out their paper work decently.

There was only so much time he could spend on paperwork and soon Lesley found himself riding his velocipede, desperately hoping Albert would be too busy tonight to notice the lamplight had gone dark.

He eyed the house warily, but nothing moved in the shadows. But as he got closer to the lamp, the problem was obvious.

The bulb was missing.

Lesley stared at it for a few moments, not sure what to believe. The bulb was the most valuable part of the lamp and was heavily protected, even in the Lower District. It took several locks and a bit of manhandling in order to wrestle it from the lamp. Fortunately, they were built to last, so it was rare that Lesley actually had to change one.

Lesley reached up and tapped the glass of the casing, just to see if it was still intact and as untouched as it looked. Without the Grid's specific tools, the lamp would have to be half destroyed in order to remove the bulb. The lamp seemed untouched, however. Lesley ran a hand through his hair, a little dumbfounded. He would have to return to the Grid in order to pick up a replacement. It was going to be interesting trying to explain this one to Garrison.

"You look lost, Lamplighter."

Lesley whirled around to the fence, but no one was there. Instead, Albert was walking towards him on the sidewalk. He was dressed finely tonight, in a black suit, necktie, and a top hat cocked on his head. Albert's eyes were dark, and Lesley couldn't tell if they were angry or just annoyed.

Lesley straightened his body, trying to control his features. "Just repairing the lamp, sir."

Albert walked up to the lamp, glancing up at it with mild interest. "Seems you're missing the bulb." His voice was colder than Lesley remembered.

Lesley resisted the urge to shuffle. For all he talked to Albert, he had never crossed the fence before. To have him suddenly on the other side was…unnerving. Lesley felt exposed. "Indeed, sir," he murmured.

Albert's eyes turned to him, suddenly sharp. "Would you like to know where the bulb is?"

Lesley blinked. "What?"

Albert held out his hand. "I can show it to you, if you like."

Lesley stared at him. "But it…did you—?"

Albert shook his hand in the air impatiently. "Are you coming with me or not, Lamplighter?"

Lesley tentatively reached out and let Albert take his hand. Albert suddenly grinned and yanked Lesley forward. He was pulled down the walkway to the gate that led to the house. "Where—?"

But it was obvious where they were going, as Albert held open his front gate and practically shoved Lesley inside.

It was then that Lesley noticed just how massive Albert's house was. The lot seemed smaller from the outside, with the tall fence and numerous trees lining the yard. The house had to be four stories and over ten bedrooms. The lights were also on the parlor with made Lesley freeze in the walkway. He could hear voices from within.

"You have company?" he asked nervously.

Albert waved a hand. "Just family."

Lesley expected to be led through a side door, some sort of servant entrance. Instead, Albert pushed him to the front door, where a servant immediately opened it. It was a stern, older looking man. "Master Albert. Master Thompson." He nodded.

Lesley found himself bowing back, even while glaring at Albert. "I am expected?" he asked incredulously.

Albert only smiled easily. "Thank you, Jefferson. We'll be downstairs."

The man nodded and stepped forward, making Lesley jump slightly. But the manservant only took Albert's hat and jacket before departing.

Albert then hooked an arm around Lesley's elbow, steering him into the front hall. "You really do need to relax, Lamplighter."

Lesley looked up as they entered the front rotunda. There was a massive staircase with carved wooden banisters, elegant painted portraits on the walls in gilded frames and several decorated doors that probably led to the dining room and parlor rooms. "How did the doorman know me?"

"Well, you see, it's because I've noticed a trend. The lamplight breaks, a lamplighter comes. Lucky it was you tonight, eh?" Albert suddenly grinned down at him and Lesley felt even more nervous.

"You took the bulb, didn't you." He realized.

Albert laughed, still pushing Lesley towards a rather elegantly gilded door. "Perhaps I did." He opened it, revealing a small, if not ornately decorate room. It was barely the size of a closet, but Albert pushed Lesley inside, closing the door behind them.

But Lesley was still reeling. "How did you—? Wait, have you been tampering with the—oh  Lord!" The room had begun to move and Lesley automatically clutched Albert in terror. "What is this contraption?"

Albert chuckled, but wrapped a supporting arm around Lesley. "An elevator. My father has been installing them in certain buildings and houses for a few years now, but I made this one myself. Rather pretty, wouldn't you say?"

Through the bars, Lesley could see they were moving down. "What if it drops us?"

Albert's arm squeezed his shoulder. "It won't. I built it very well."

The ride seemed to last rather long and Lesley tried to resist the urge to shiver in terror. He knew the workers of the steam tunnels used lifts all the time. But those were clearly man powered, not a death trap that worked with a simple lever. Lesley was glad to hop out when it stopped. "Why couldn't we take the stairs?"

Albert waved a hand. "I find it tiring to walk to my workroom all the time." He opened another door down the short hall and revealed a rather peculiar room.

It was more of a cave, instead of a room. With a vaulted, unfinished ceiling, it was a huge open space that could probably fit an entire steam train engine through it. And it was filled with…things. Lesley could find no adequate way to describe it. There were gears, tools, and other materials strewn about everywhere. There were several large tables, piled high with half finished machines, or perhaps de-constructed ones. Around the perimeter was a scale steam train that could probably fit a small child within the engine.

There was a drawing and design tables with papers, measuring tools, and charcoal. The walls were lined with posters of strange ideas and stranger looking parts. There also seemed to be shelves and shelves filled with books and other things Lesley had no idea existed.

Albert pushed him forward, since Lesley was frozen at the doorway. On one hand, he felt this was the room of his greatest dreams; on the other hand, it was far too overwhelming. As he stopped again, to see a diagram of the elevator he had just been in, Albert took his hand.

"I promised you a bulb, yes?" He pulled Lesley forward to a strange contraption lying on one of the work tables. It looked to be some sort of small balloon machine.

"The bulb?" Lesley had momentarily forgotten, then just realized. "You did take it!"

Albert smiled and motioned to the front of the machine. "I needed a headlight and it was too tempting."

Lesley frowned. "How did you break into the lamp?" There would have been some sign on tampering, even if Albert was skilled enough to open it.

Albert shrugged. "You've no idea how ingenious I can be. Besides, I had a bit of help. Now, if I can find that…" He turned and began to rifle through some boxes under the design table.

Lesley looked closer at the machine, trying to figure out what it was exactly. It didn't have wheels, but it definitely did have something similar to a balloon on top. Also something was…inside it.

"Bradypus?" He reached into the small compartment inside to find the sloth curled up.

"Oh? He's still down here?" Albert was back. "Well, it is his present. I'm glad he's grown fond of it."

"What is it?" Lesley couldn’t help but ask, but as he turned he noticed something else in Albert's arms. "My tool kit!" he exclaimed. "How did you get that?"

Albert shrugged. "After you told me what happened into it, I found myself looking through some of my more…devious merchants in the Lower District. One of them said he had recently purchased it." He patted the top of it. "It was a hard bargain, but I figured you would be happier to know it is not in the hands of some homeless man in the Lower Sistrict." He pushed forward. "Would you like it back?"

Lesley shook his head, pushing it away. "No, you paid for it, you should have it. I've already received a new one…which you already paid for." He bowed it head. "I still don't know how to repay you for that."

Albert's hand was lifting his chin back up. "Is that why you didn't come back?"

Lesley shrugged, but didn't answer. Instead, he looked sideways at the machine Bradypus was currently residing in. "Would you tell me what it is?"

"Flying machine. I call it an Aerostat. Would you like to see?" He was already digging about a rather small pair of goggles from under his papers and fastening them to Bradypus, who took the new accessory with relative ease.

"What?" Lesley couldn't help but ask as Albert rearranged the sloth in the device.

"Aerostat. It can fly relatively easily with a bit of heating. Though I've not made much progress on training Bradypus to steer, so I have to keep it tethered." He began cranking it and near the top, a small flame burst to life. In no short time, the strange balloon was indeed floating upwards. With a long cord connecting it to the table, it bobbed near the ceiling.

"Amazing," Lesley whispered, watching as Bradypus leaned over the side, looking rather unconcerned. "You built that?"

Albert nodded enthusiastically. "I can show you all my prototypes, if you like. One day I would like to make one big enough that I could fit into. Then I could work on actually controlling the flight path."

Lesley could only stare at the strange device, which would occasional emit a puff of steam and sink a foot, before rising back up. On the ceiling and the wall, he could see the lamp bulb flickering from the headlight. "Tell me, have you ever tampered with that lamplight before?"

Albert looked a bit sheepish. "Maybe once or twice."

Lesley frowned, turning fully to him. "Truly?"

Albert laughed nervously. "Well, perhaps a bit more. Especially when I noticed a certain lamplighter always came to fix it."

Lesley groaned, running a hand through his hair. "You've been breaking it every time, haven't you?" He couldn’t believe had hadn’t noticed before. "Why? Was it some sort of game?"

"No, not a game." Suddenly, Albert looked rather serious. "It was a…test of sorts. But not in a cruel way, I assure you. I just had the feeling you were rather talented, so I tested you a bit."

Lesley looked back to Bradypus, who was slowly descending as the crank began to unwind. "Testing with a lamplight?" he asked dubiously.

Albert suddenly took his hand, forcing Lesley to look at him. "A lamplight is a rather complicated device. It must light and extinguish itself. It must be on a timer. And it must be able to communicate with the Grid so someone there can tell when it's not working. And you, Lesley, have proved yourself highly skilled with such a device." He paused. "I've shown the work you've done to it to my father. He said himself that he has worked with many highly qualified engineers, but they could not accomplish what you have these past weeks."

Lesley fought a flush. "But it was only repair work, on just a lamplight."

Albert smiled softly. "Hardly repair work. I've done quite a number on that poor lamplight. You have replaced every mechanism within it, as well as reworking it to be more efficient in hopes that it would not fail again. Besides, my father runs these same tests to promising apprentices. They were not nearly as effective as you, Lamplighter."

Lesley could not stop his face from growing red. "I hardly deserve such flattery." He wanted to take his hand back, but Albert was pulling him forward.

"Whatever you might think, I am giving it to you. So you should accept it graciously. Besides, you will have to get used to it. My father is upstairs and he is rather eager to meet you."

Lesley swallowed thickly. "Wh-what? Your father? I couldn't dream of…" He found his voice failing him.

Albert squeezed his hand. "I took you down here, in case you needed a moment before talking to him. But he is waiting for us upstairs."

Lesley felt his vision blurring at the edges. This couldn't be real. He eventually found his voice again. "Th-thank you, sir." He bowed his head.

"Albert." With a hand under his chin, he lifted Lesley's head.

"Of course, sir," he automatically replied.

Albert's eyebrows dropped in disappointment. "Why don't you call me by my name?"

Lesley looked away. They've had this conversation many times before. But this suddenly seemed much more serious. "It's not my place."

"Then why did you let me kiss you?"

Lesley felt his hands clench, as if they needed to grip something to stabilize him. But the fence wasn't between them anymore and he knew couldn't hold on to it forever. Slowly, he looked up. "Because I…I wanted it."

Albert smiled, soft and slow. "Do you want to kiss me now?"

Lesley couldn't look at him. "I…I…"

Albert stepped closer, almost leisurely. "And I'm not asking whether you think you deserve to or not. Or if it's allowed based on where we were born. Or even if you wonder if it is something I want to do." He cupped Lesley's chin, lifting his head to meet his gaze. "I'm asking you, dear Lamplighter, do you want to kiss me?"

Lesley looked into those bright green eyes, those same eyes that glimmered from behind that fence for so many weeks. And that mouth which spoke to him, was interested in him, flattered him, and kissed him.

Lesley found there was only one answer to give. And only one way to give it.

He leaned up and tentatively pressed his lips against Albert's. Lightly, he rested his hands on Albert's chest, too afraid to hold him directly. It started out soft at first, with something like the sweetness of innocence.

But it soon grew into Albert's hands combing through Lesley's hair, tugging at the ends in earnest. It grew into Lesley's arms reaching around Albert's chest, hands clenching the back of his shirt. Then Albert wasn't just kissing Lesley, he was ravishing him. Biting and sucking and pushing him towards the work table. Uncaring as papers and tools spilled to the floor as he pressed Lesley against the sturdy wood.

Lesley tried to return him with as much passion as he could, but his senses were fogging, making it hard to think. He could only feel the warmth building within him, curling like a snake ready to strike. It was all he could do to hold on and pray he didn't fall into the ceiling.

It was a rather prolonged moment before either of them was ready to go back upstairs.

***

Lesley stepped into Kerry Park, tugging at his expensive vest and bowler hat nervously. Last week Albert had gifted him with some new clothes to wear whenever they went out. While Lesley knew Albert really didn't care what he wore, Albert did realize that it bothered Lesley to look so poor next to him.

Well, the clothes did make it easier for Lesley to enter Kerry Park without being immediately labeled for being lower class. He bowed to several well-dressed ladies as he practically ran to meet Albert at the center of the park, near the main fountain.

It was a hot day with no clouds in the sky. It was picturesque, but Lesley was sweating through his cotton shirt. Gentleman of status always seemed to wear so many layers. He could never imagine how fine ladies could stand their numerous petticoats, crinolines, and corsets.

Albert was waiting with Bradypus on his shoulders. For some reason, Albert thought it amusing to dress his sloth up even more for public outings. Bradypus was currently not only wearing his safety goggles, but also a small vest, top hat, and even a small timepiece. He looked utterly ridiculous and Lesley couldn't help but laugh as he approached.

"That poor creature must be dying in the heat!"

Albert smiled, scratching Bradypus' cheek affectionately. "Today is the maiden voyage! He wanted to be dressed for the occasion."

Lesley looked to the rather large crate at Albert's feet. He also knew how heavy it was and he wondered what poor servant Albert had wrangled into carrying this far into the park. "It's hardly a ship being sent to sea." He knelt by the box and began to unpack the contents.

"Yet we are already drawing an audience for the occasion."

Lesley looked up to see a crowd drawing close. He felt a bit nervous, with so many eyes on him, but it happened all the time when Albert brought Bradypus to the park. As much as the aristocrats might mock Albert's eccentric nature, they seemed to enjoy witnessing the spectacle.

Lesley finally managed to assemble the contraption that had been partially broken down in the crate. As Albert leaned forward, Lesley took Bradypus and inserted him to a miniature automobile.

Over the past year that Lesley had been invited into Albert's life. He was held one of the coveted positions of being an apprentice to the Chief Architect for the city. His income had increased dramatically, giving him enough to finally rent an apartment. And though Albert had offered his own home as lodgings, Lesley politely declined. There was only so much status changes that he could take in less than a year, after all. But it seemed every day that he had off, he was in Albert's workroom anyway.

He was still far from his dream of building his own motor vehicle; he had only so many hours in a day. But he couldn't believe how far he had come. Albert's workroom was already cluttered with many of Lesley's own half-finished prototypes and designs. But he was still able to complete a fully functional, if not simple, motor vehicle for Bradypus.

Carefully, he tied the sloth in, and hooked the steering mechanism to his spindly arms and claws. "Okay, Bradypus, you need to concentrate. No driving under ladies' skirts, yes?"

Albert chuckled near him. "It'll be a miracle if he doesn't crash into us all."

Lesley only grinned and began to crank the engine. It couldn't go very fast and would run out of power in a couple minutes and need to be cranked again. But it would be worth watching Bradypus travel fifty times faster than a sloth ever should.

He could feel the automobile vibrating as the steam began to vent. Backing up quickly, Lesley let go and watched Bradypus drive into the crowd of people nearby. The ladies shrieked and the gentleman gracelessly tried to jump out of the way as Bradypus whirled around them.

"I'm still surprised you could train him to do such a thing." Albert stepped next to Lesley, covertly putting an arm around him while the crowd was distracted.

Lesley shrugged. "He only needs to pull one paw or the other to turn. He seemed to pick that up rather quickly. Now I think he just likes to play around. Of course, he generally prefers just going in circles." And, as he just said, the little automobile began to make tight circles, letting the crowd draw closer again to watch.

Albert drew closer, leaning down to give Lesley a brief kiss on his cheek. "Thank you for making it for Bradypus. I'm sure he could have never imagined being able to do such a thing."

Lesley looked at Albert sideways. It was not often he could be out in public like this. He still worked most days and often long into the night. He still lived in the Lower District, though he also seemed to live in Albert's workroom. And he was still a lowly Lamplighter who somehow managed to catch the gaze of this beautiful person.

Lesley smiled and leaned his head against Albert's shoulder. "I suppose I understand."