The body slept, and the Hands met in the Lantern Hall, which was a long dream-hall with a lamp for each seat.
Nine lamps burned along the near wall. They were the lamps of the awake, and each one had a different colour in its flame, according to the trade that kept it. The Mason’s lamp was a steady white, like a candle on a mortar-board. The Cook’s was a warm gold that smelled, faintly, of bread. The Watch’s burned a thin hard blue. The Bonesetter’s was a dry, honest yellow, and the Smith’s was red, and it flared when it was not spoken to. Tallow’s lamp was pale and precise, a little cooler than the others, as if it had been trimmed to the exact length of its wick and not an eighth of an inch over. Korrin’s flame jumped and cracked. Velvet’s had been dimmer since the Seizing, and then brighter again, and then dimmer, and now it hung halfway between the two like a lamp in a house where somebody has just come in from the cold. The Ferryman’s burned in the furthest of the nine, very steady, and gave off a faint hum that was almost a voice.
