Surveyors in a quiet hill city have mapped a lattice of signal lanterns built to carry gossip at the speed of light. Street plans label routes for rumor, rebuttal, and awkward correction in neat, unapologetic script.
Recovered lamps have ear-shaped shutters and a brass wheel marked “hmm, gasp, and tell no one.” In tests a beam crossed a courtyard until the roofline kinked, then bent toward the eaves and arrived as a faintly judgmental flicker.
Analysts note that nosy rooftops intercepted most messages, storing half-finished scandals like heat in late stone. Soot around chimney pots forms tidy ellipses, and at dawn the tiles click as if returning only the words you did not hear this from me.
Wear patterns cluster around gasp, and a tiny notch near tell no one is polished bright by generations of caution. One lantern produced a sympathetic dim when set beside a cooled teacup, and a moth hovered at the edge as if auditing.
“It is an optical rumor engine, calibrated for speed and plausible deniability,” said Mara Quill, senior lanternologist at the Municipal Whisper Works.
A field log describes beams that hesitate at corners, then proceed with a small shrug of amber. When two signals met in crossing they merged into a tidy double-take, and the eaves released a soft “ah” actually that drifted down like warm lint.
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