The Shout Down the Lamp-Floor

Brannoch Vell stood on the lamp-floor of House Foundry and bellowed for the wicks to be trimmed before the next catch, and the cry ran down the rows like a dropped tray. A boy sprinted for the spare oil, slipped on the wet boards, and came up grinning with a cask under each arm. The lamps along the east wall took the flame one after another, and nobody in the hall looked up from the work.