Western Watch (3rd Draft)

Chapter 14

A rare night breeze wafts through the open window and without thinking Merreth raises her head to let it cool her neck. Her hand slips and the quill leaves a splotchy ink trail across the paper, obscuring the words she's written. Bloody pointless effort with only a single candle for light. She's not even sure why she's trying to write to her sister. No. That's not true. She's bored. This is her second night in the cabin and there's not a damned thing to do.

What the blazes does she say to Ammantha anyway?

Dearest Sister,

You will be pleased to know that I have been branded a criminal, after having beaten bloody a ranking Red Hand noble before hundreds of witnesses, including High Mistress Rehkhell. After that, I contrived to have myself banished to the far side of the Saskanna River to keep company with commoner rogues, thieves, brigands, and cutthroats. This for a period of not less than two years, assuming I am not killed in the little war the Watch is waging against the clans. 

 While here, I thought our House interests could best be served by insulting and threatening the Temple, handing my House whip to a commoner, and embarrassing the entire Watch nobility in front of an armed mob. At the moment I am imprisoned in a cabin not much bigger than a privy shed. 

It's been a busy first week.

I hope you are well.

Merreth

No. That wouldn't do. Damn! She balls up the page in frustration and tosses it into the corner. Still, Ammantha will find out anyway. There'll be no lack of people willing to inform her of Merreth's slide into ruin. So ... she studies the discarded letter for a moment, then retrieves it. Why not? She smooths out the letter and places it on the table beside the candlestick and caps the ink bottle.

Merreth sighs as she loosens the ties on her breeches. Her sister will be so proud. She places the quill back on the table and caps the ink bottle. With a quick pinch the candle is snuffed dark. She takes a sip of water and runs a hand through her sweat-tangled hair before settling on the cot, her back resting against the wall, boots off, feet drawn up, eyes unfocused. The barest hint of purple shows through the window. Dawn nears.

Her 'quarters' contain a cot, a table, and a bureau. There are two windows that are covered with grime, while the table and chair wear a light coat of dust. There are no curtains, knick-knacks, books, tools, cutlery, or clothing. Nothing, save for a shallow wash basin and water jug sitting on the table, to indicate anyone had actually used the cabin before Charadell decided to turn it into a prison.

The table wobbles. The washbasin is cracked.

I'm a cat in a box, she thinks.

She smiles at the privy bucket in the corner. She'd taken her first meal from the guard with one hand and given him the bucket for emptying with the other. "Dump it. I'll wait."

Her most diverting moment until late that afternoon when the entire encampment had exploded into a cacophony of sounds, shouts. Her two windows face away from the encampment and Charadell's guard had refused to open the door.

Merreth had cursed with frustration at being unable to see. Charadell had to be moving against the clans. Nothing else could explain the controlled pandemonium taking place. Would she succeed? How much of a price would Totlenn and his men pay? Probably no one gave a damn.

Do I? she asks herself now. She doesn't know. Everyone here – everyone noble – is so damn quick to throw away commoner lives. When they aren't busy making those lives miserable. Merreth remembers Tiandraa backhanding Brinnt.