Trench

Seventeen

The crisp clicks of the typewriters irritated him more with every minute that passed. He could barely focus on his task, and his fingers refused to respond to his mind. He knew he was falling behind his quota, and though he knew that would bring more unwanted attention, he couldn't help it. After all, transcribing the same histories over and over wasn't the most interesting thing on his mind.

And the Silence was driving him insane.

The door opened and he fought to keep his head down, but then a hand rested on his desk, leaving a slip of paper behind as the man moved on. Clancy picked it up, his hands trembling, and then his heart dropped to his stomach.

Bishop Keons wants to see you in his office immediately.

Clancy swallowed hard and stood up, gripping his pen tightly. Nothing good could come out of this, not when the Assemblage and their escape were so close.

One of Keons' advisors met him at the door and led him down the hall and out into the streets. Everything was fuzzier than usual, even with his glasses, and a headache surfaced behind his eyes the longer he walked. At last, they reached the small office in the church and Clancy swallowed hard. Before he even had a chance to compose himself, the advisor opened the door and gestured for him to enter.

Keons didn't look up from his desk, even when the advisor shut the door again. Clancy shifted his weight uncomfortably, fighting desperately to keep his hands at his sides. He wanted to believe that he hadn't done anything wrong, but that was entirely untrue.

"You are permitted to speak until I say otherwise."

Clancy just nodded. He had no other response, and he was afraid that speaking during the Week of Silence would get him in serious trouble, even though the Bishop had given him permission.

Finally, Keons raised his head and looked right at him, holding a piece of paper out for him to see. "What is this?" he demanded.

Clancy's breath hitched in his throat as he recognized the signature at the bottom. How had he found that? He had kept it hidden under his mattress in his apartment. Even though the Bishop watched him with anger in his shrouded eyes, he couldn't bring himself to answer. Nothing he could say would defend his actions.

"I will not ask again."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I just didn't know how to process my thoughts."

"How often do you do this?"

A lump formed in his throat and he struggled to swallow. "I don't know."

"You are twenty years old, Clancy. You should know better than this."

Keons' voice was soaked with disappointment, and a sick guilt settled in his stomach. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, keeping his eyes glued to the ground. His entire body felt heavy.

"An apology is hardly sufficient. This is outright and deliberate blasphemy." Keons folded his hands in his robe, watching him with cold, hard eyes. "Do you understand what the punishment for this is?"

"No, sir," he whispered.

"A public smearing and imprisonment in the towers, Clancy. Are you prepared for that?"

Clancy's entire body trembled, and his stomach twisted until he was sure he was going to throw up. He couldn't bring himself to open his mouth.

"It's difficult to take in, isn't it?" Keons stood up and approached him slowly. Clancy tried not to lean away from him. "It is difficult for me, as well. You were doing so well, even with your episodes. Frankly, I'm quite disappointed. I know you think I can't see you during Worship, but I can. I know what you are doing. You are deliberately fighting divine help."