Western Watch (3rd Draft)

Chapter 7

The guards at the top of the steps nod, puzzled, as Merreth mounts the stairs. One pulls open the door for her and she enters the room. Wooden chairs clatter across the floor, knocked askew by clerks scrambling to their feet. One loses his footing, claws at a table and winds up sprawled in a heap, papers drifting down around him.

It's a big room, cramped with tables, chairs, and cabinets. A threadbare tapestry adorns one wall. Oil portraits of the Matriarch and High Mistress Rehkhell gaze down with haughty stoicism. A sprawl of tents and shacks is visible out the dust-streaked back window and open door. The air is still, sullen, and cotton-thick.

At a desk directly in front of Merreth a small plump man of perhaps fifty summers makes quick, deft notes with a quill. A fringe of blonde hair rings his bald head and a narrow, neatly trimmed mustache perches above thin lips. His white tunic, unmarred by dirt, dust, or sweat, drapes over his body like a tent. A wide, white Temple collar circles his neck. By his left hand an incense candle burns and a large crystal decanter of water with matching glass sits within easy reach.

Merreth frowns. A Temple Brother, the last thing she expects.

"Back to work, everyone," he says without looking up. "Nothing is accomplished by gawking at criminals."

A young man wearing a narrow Templeman's collar and a worried face scurries up to the desk. "Brother Eenidd, a Mistress ..."

"Do you seek to describe the obvious, Anggo?" The quill comes to the end of a line and whips back to the other side of the page.

"No. Of course not, Brother, not at all." Anggo backs away, head bowed. Behind him the other clerks gather papers from the floor and resume their duties while casting curious glances at Merreth. They too wear Templeman collars.

"I am aware of who stands before me," says Eenidd as he studies his work. He glances at the decanter and frowns before placing his quill on the table and shooing away several flies. After filling the glass he takes a sip, his small pink tongue flicking over his lower lip when he finishes.

Looks like an overweight garden snake, thinks Merreth.

Eenidd raises his head. "Good morning, Mistress Merreth," he says, eyes glinting.

A fanged garden snake.

"Lady Merreth. Who are you?" She drops her kit on the floor and folds her arms.

"Mmmm, yes." Eenidd opens a folder by his elbow. "That's here; your curious affectation of a title beneath your own." He taps a finger on the table. "Why do you do that, I wonder? One would think you'd want every bit of influence and power you could muster given your current ... situation."

Merreth watches a drop of water inch its way down the side of the decanter. Unease whispers through her at his lack of respect. She shakes it off and walks up to the desk. What else about her lies in that folder and where the blazes had he come by it? She snuffs out the candle flame with her fingers. "I asked, who are you?"

Eenidd glances at the smoke curling up from the candle wick, and purses his lips.

Behind Eenidd, Anggo clears his throat. "Uh, this is Brother Eenidd, Mistress Merreth, he ..."

"Be silent, Anggo," says Eenidd.

Anggo's mouth snaps shut.

"I am Brother Eenidd, of the Temple Order." Eenidd's fingers brush his collar with reverence. "And the administrator of this camp." He gestures behind him.

Merreth raises an eyebrow. "The Temple is running the — " Merreth searches for the correct word, " — army camp? What about the Western Watch?"

"Camps," says Eenidd. "This is only one of several, though 'army' is a rather grand term for a mob of brigands, footpads, cutthroats and, well, you'll find out soon enough." He sighs. "Not at all like the constable units or the noble horse. We don't run the camps as such, we merely administer the allocation of food, supplies, pay, weapons, that sort of thing. We also help the sisters minister to the men's spiritual needs."