Igor's Lamp

Benjamin Larsen arrived late in the afternoon. No one traded past midday. It was unsafe to allow strangers into your market so late in the day. Larsen was accompanied by four fellow traders.

They had insisted on visiting the market and their spokesperson Larsen was amiable and polite. “We humbly request to trade in your wonderful market before we pitch our tents for the night.” Larsen bowed maintaining a cordial tone, “Apologies, we have arrived much later than planned. We’ve just come from Gludsted and had intended to spend the night in the village of Virkelyst, further to the south.”

There were only five of them and they were unarmed. I nodded and stepped aside, allowing them access to our market.

“Welcome to Salgafigor!”

The salesmen had already packed up for the day and were not ready to receive customers. However, after being alerted of the opportunity for another sale, they quickly set up and re-manned their stalls. This was unusual as there wasn't much light left for the day. I patrolled the market with Bo. With our weapons sheathed, we remained wary of the newcomers. After concluding that things were safe I stood next to Larsen as he waited by Igor’s unmanned stall. Larsen was telling stories of his travels here in the region of Skolved. I could tell from his accent that he was not from these parts.

After a while Larsen started asking after Igor in a jesting but frustrated tone, “Where is the fat one? I want to see his fine lamps!”

It was true Igor made fine lamps; they were by far the brightest in the region. No one knew where Igor sourced the intricate glass domes that he used for his lamps. No one in our or any nearby village was able to work this accurately with glass. Our village could barely get a furnace hot enough to correct a copper rod.

Larsen had by this point drawn a small crowd; they had come to hear tales of his travels. After Igor failed to appear, Larsen became agitated. He stood up and gestured toward Igor's tent, teasing Igor, in front of his listeners, about how fat he was. He began to announce his doubt regarding the quality of Igor's lamps to the people gathered around him.

Igor finally appeared and started setting up his stall, all the while Larsen maintained his taunting.

For his demonstration Igor would use one particular lamp to show how bright and clean it could burn. The flame burnt behind the glass dome fueled by oil rendered from slaughtered goats. The glass dome of the lamp diffused the light spreading it evenly around the entire market. Besides the initial burst of flame there was very little smoke, even though it shone so intensely.

Only Igor knew how his lamps produced such an impressive amount of light. Igor's secret was his own. I personally believed that it was something in the way that the oil fed into the wick; others thought it was some kind of witchcraft and that he used a power from within his large belly to make them burn so brilliantly.

Only after finally seeing the light of Igor’s lamp was Larsen impressed. His demeanor changed dramatically, he no longer referred to Igor as the “fat man”.

Larsen clasped his hands, smiling "Mr. Igor, I am impressed! Your lamps really are worth the journey to Salgafigor! What is your secret to their brightness? How are they made?"

Igor hushed him, shaking his head, “You may buy my lamps but my secrets are not for sale.”

Larsen continued to pressure Igor for his secrets for a long time.

Igor finally gave in raising his hands in defeat "Ok! Okay. I'll tell you my secret."

After a lengthy pause signifying his reluctance, Igor gave his explanation, "It's a special process. While I place the wick I use my right hand and for the remainder of the lamp work I will only ever use my left hand."

Igor was right-handed; this was obvious by the way his large sword hung.

Larsen frowned; he was no longer impressed with Igor or his lamps. There was clearly more to Igor’s secret than this. It didn’t make sense that the use of one hand or the other could be the reason behind why his lamps shone with so much intensity. However, the way Igor composed himself, made it clear to Larsen that the large man intended to continue his explanation. Larsen was now looking suspiciously at Igor, attempting to feign boredom, in case his keen interest be noted and denied by Igor. Larsen didn’t hide his excitement as well as he thought he had; after all he was about to have the mysteries of Igor's lamps finally revealed to him.

Igor quickly recognized the excitement on Larsen's face. He enjoyed drawing out his explanation of how he made his lamps. Everyone in the region of Skolved knew how tight lipped Igor was about his lamp making secrets. The local salesmen who were in the nearby stalls had stopped their clutter and were now intently listening. This only intensified the importance of every gesture that Igor made.

Igor continued demonstrating with a serious look on his face. It appeared to everyone watching that Igor was only aware of the presence of one person, Benjamin Larsen. The rest of his growing audience began pressing past each other for a better view. Some were even climbing the rafters to make sure they could see what was happening. It was as if they thought ‘If I get a better viewpoint then I will be able to tell my grandchildren about the time I learned of Igor’s secret.’ The nearby stall owners, who had managed to get in early, were now flaunting their position of vantage by looking down their noses at those that clung to the rafters.

When Igor made his lamps he worked alone in his workshop. No one dared to disturb the burly man with his great sword. The radiant shafts of light from his lamps would shift and dance through the narrow cracks of his workshop. It created a mystical performance of glinting shafts of light as they caught on the post-dusk mist. Today in the market these mysteries, which were hidden behind those illuminated walls, were finally going to be revealed to them.

Igor continued his demonstration to Larsen using only his left hand. The anticipation was building because he had still not revealed anything unusual besides his left-handed technique. It left Igor’s audience attentive as they yearned for more.

Igor’s lamp lit demonstration was drawing to a close. His audience was intently beckoning him to continue with a deepening silence. They were leaning on each word from Igor. If someone’s breath was heard or if someone shifted a foot it would be met with a dozen sets of judging eyes.

Igor intentionally delayed his demonstration by explaining every last detail. He even mentioned how many twists the lamp wick required before releasing— seven and a half— and how much oil he would use to fill to chamber– five and a quarter ladles.

Benjamin was becoming increasingly impatient with Igor's overly intricate explanation, his own attempts to hide his restless nature proving less and less successful. He wanted Igor to finally get to the point and reveal the secret of his lamps.

Each word Igor said was soaked up by his audience. He continued with an intentional and calculated tone that reflected the reverence of the moment; his demonstration maintained an excitement worthy of a king's gaze.

During his demonstration Igor was standing behind a large market stall. He was bent over, his lamp in front of him while he continued to explain. He only used his left hand as he showed how each part worked and how it was fitted just so. He now started to slow his tempo, generating even more tension. This part of the process was nothing new to his audience but the way they watched on, made it seem as if Igor was teaching new discoveries to cavemen.

Larsen was pressing in close beside Igor in case his words might slip by him.

Igor paused for a moment as if he had forgotten where he was. Still appearing to be lost, Igor began to stare at his left hand. It rose in front his face, he examined it closely, still not saying a word. Everyone watched on bewildered and confused.

Larsen held his breath.

Igor continued, hypnotized by his left hand. It began to slowly rotate and it started to form a fist using all but one finger. The remaining finger started pointing down at his right hand, which until this point had remained neatly tucked on top his thick leather belt buckle. The thick belt was visibly struggling to hold in Igor’s large belly.

Igor’s eyes widened as he watched his right hand move quickly away from his belt buckle. It moved as if it had been caught in the act of doing something mischievous. Having moved away from his belt, his hand revealed the unlatched buckle. Igor’s gut was now unrestrained, it flowed out over the table toward his lamp.

Igor looked on, aghast as his lamp was pushed over the other side of the bench, by his own considerable heft. The lamp violently shattered as it landed on the hard cobble stones below.

Igor's face shifted slowly, he started to smile triumphantly. He laughed deeply at his confused audience.

Larsen was the first to turn his own captivated, awe-struck-gaze into laughter.

He wasn’t able to contain himself any more, slapping the chuckling Igor on the back. "A-huh! I now know your secret! Hold the lump or harm the lamp!"