Eulourus Key, or "Just Key" as he would prefer, stood in the morning assembly, completely bewildered. His armor was polished beautifully, reflecting the dim, overcast light around Grayson Hall. His plate wasn't just shiny; it was the glistening standard of perfection, and nothing could have been worse for him at that moment. The gleam on his armor was a creative and intelligently calculated attack.
I have to hand it to the guy. I wish I had thought of it first, Key thought miserably as he awaited his doom when it came time for his uniform inspection.
This wasn't the first attack and wouldn't be the last, but Key was far from being a guiltless martyr. He and Ansel Jory had been at war with each other since Royal Guard training camp over two years ago. How the fight happened was undeniable. It started simply and elegantly with a flower in a vase sitting on Key's foot chest. This broke the berthing standards for the Royal Guard Training Camp, or "camp" as it was called, and Key had been punished liberally for it. After some investigative work, he found out who the culprit was.
Ansel Jory, a plump boy with dark curly hair and an appetite for cruel humor, had planted the vased flower to "see what would happen." Key did not turn him in, and they both knew he couldn't. Ratting on a fellow brother at arms or betraying 'the brotherhood of the guard' was like signing your own death warrant. No one would trust you after that, and you would find yourself in a position where you couldn't piss around the corner without someone telling on you for leaving your post. Instead, Key got even.
Two days later, love letters from Jory to his squad leader just happen to emerge, transforming their lives into an endless bout of retaliation. Attacks between the two became more random and imaginative. These attacks included anything from various animals in various places, moonlight haircuts, peppers, itching powder, sharp plants, and now, among many other things, the shiniest armor ever to plague the morning assembly.
Grayson Hall was named after General Grayson, a once remarkable member of the king's service in Royal City, reduced to nothing more than a name for one of many locations that mustered the Royal guard for the morning assembly. The hall was an auditorium that held up the sky with two stone pillars jutting out from either side of a central stage. A semi-circle of stone stairs surrounded the stage, climbing upwards, row after row, until meeting the surrounding walls and three exits. Perhaps General Grayson meant to put a roof on his hall before he died. With a ceiling open to the world, he left a legacy poorly suited for bad weather. If there were any blue skies to be seen, they were outside the preview of the walls. The overcast ceiling darkened the halls, threatening to spill rain on three hundred mustering guards.
"Are you trying to stand watch in the king's private chambers?" Alrick asked quietly as he stood at attention next to Key.
"No, but with this plate, I wouldn't be surprised if they put me there," Key replied to his friend standing next to him.
"They'll probably put you at one of the castle's entrances," Alrick said. "I'm guessing the North door. I'll make sure the boys drink to your health today."
"Thanks," Key said despondantly.
There were many places a guard could stand watch in Royal City, but some places had more benefits than others. Some watch stations were so bad that they were reserved for people who got in trouble that week or, consequently, if someone else didn't get in trouble.
Bridge duty was one of the worst places to be. You had to control access to the city, taking dirty coins from even dirtier travelers coming into the city. Sick people would cough on you, poor people would cry and beg to be let in. If anybody ever wanted to force their way in, you would be the first person to die or wish you had died before wrestling down the unbathed assailant.
The only place debatably worse than bridge duty was standing guard anywhere regarding the castle. No one congratulated you for standing at attention, staring directly in front of you for hours on end, and being unable to move. Conversely, suppose someone important did notice you slouching, sleeping, drinking, laughing, or scratching your ear. In that case, you would get in a lot of trouble, and there were many important people at the castle to notice. To make matters worse, even the chamber maids acted as if they outranked you, passing you with their noses in the air and treating you with general disdain.
It was important that you didn't have the best or the worst-looking plate of armor. Either way, you would be standing watch at the castle. But the former bypassed the part where you were yelled at while you made yourself presentable first.
"You got a date tonight?" A voice came from over his shoulder.
Key turned and smiled to see Gustave winking at him from behind Alrick.
"He was hoping the queen uses the North entrance," Alrick quipped. "That way, she'll have something to fix her hair in as she passes by."
"Guards," Sergeant Dilly called to the assembly. "fall in!"
Dilly walked around the hall, taking muster reports and conducting uniform inspections. When he stopped in front of the row Key was standing in, he whistled.
"That is the best-looking plate I've seen in a long time. Why don't you switch places with someone in the front so people have a better view of what the standard should be?" It wasn't phrased as a direct order, but it was one.
"Yes, sergeant," he said and then made his way down the stairs to the front row, humiliated.
After all the muster reports were in and the inspection was over, the sergeant went to the front and called the room to attention. The sound of hundreds of heels coming together unanimously hushed the room. Solitary footsteps marched down the ranks to the focal point of the assembly. Captain Watford walked past the ranks of guardsmen crisply, eyes forward, unwavering.
When he reached the front, Sergeant Dilly gave a crisp salute, bringing his fist to his chest with an audible thump. The captain, in lieu of saluting back, dismissed him with the roll of papers in his hand.
"Good morning, sir; these are the reports from yesterday; not a lot of-"
Captain Watford quieted the sergeant with a gesture as another sergeant entered the assembly carrying a staff with a metallic eagle. "Call the men to attention," he spoke quietly to his sergeant.
"They're already at attention, sir," Sergeant Dilly replied.
"Just do it, Dilly!" the captain rasped. "You will not try my patience this morning."
"Assembly!" Dilly called out, "Attention!"
The room stayed unchanged while the unanimous sound of heels striking together echoed through the walls of Grayson Hall.
The sergeant carrying the emblem stave waited a moment after the command to attention before announcing, "Captain Castor, Entering the hall!"
"What an unfortunate surprise," Captain Watford said to himself. "I wonder what he wants this time?"
Captain Castor passed around the stave carrier towards the front. He was a tall man in his late thirties with his face fixed in a look of pure confidence.
The two captains faced each other, neither saluting.
"Good morning, Charles," Watford said.
"Fredrick," Castor returned.
"What do you want?"
"I need someone to run messages for the day, possibly longer," Castor said cheerlessly. "I am conducting an audition for a new assistant."
"I heard about the," Watford said making a stabbing motion with his hands. "I might have someone to spear, so to speak."
"My assistant was murdered in cold blood, serving loyally in the line of duty. It would be bad form if you were, just now, making quips at his expense." Castor said between clenched teeth. "Bad form indeed."
"Yes, quite right," Watford agreed, feeling chastised. "Bad form."
"So, do you have anyone available?" Castor asked.
"I have just the man," Watford said. "Sergeant Dilly, send that gentleman we have assigned for bridge duty and replace him with someone else."
"Gentleman, sir? You mean the red-haired tree pisser?" Dilly asked before Castor interjected.
"I'm afraid that I do not have a need for any red-haired tree pissers today," Castor spoke as if his voice, his words were the epitome of finality. "At the very least, I need someone to represent me. Someone like…." His eyes scanned the room.
"I'll send someone else then," Watford offered.
"I'll take shiny armor over there," Castor pointed at Key in the first row. "Sound good?"
"Yes, I'm sure that will be fine," Watford said, making sure the sergeant was listening. "Send him."
After the assembly, Key was sent to the captain's office - The Office of Investigations - and knocked on the door.
"Enter," the captain permitted.
Key turned the knob on the sturdy oak door and slowly opened it revealing a small room with regal decorations and weapons hanging from the wall. The captain sat behind a desk, fingers steepled. Blue smoke drifted up from a short-stemmed pipe clenched in his teeth.
"Come in, close the door." The captain managed without dislodging the pipe.
Key closed the door behind him and stood at attention. "Corporal Key, reporting as instructed, sir." He announced himself formally.
"Do you know why I called you here today?" The captain asked, taking his pipe in hand and pointing to Key with the end of it.
"To run errands for you," Key paused momentarily, "sir."
"Yes and no, corporal." The captain puffed at his pipe, "The reason why you are standing in front of me right now is because I believe you understand something that most people do not, at least not at your age and not so early in their career. You understand the simple but powerful axiom: appearances create credibility."
Key stood at attention, trying to look like he understood the word axiom.
"It should go without saying, corporal," the captain continued, enunciating as if each word was commissioned by the king himself. "whatever happens in my company, you shall ensure that you are irrevocably circumspect about it. Whatever you see, whatever I tell you, or conversations you overhear are strictly confidential. Do we have an agreement?"
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"Yes, sir." Key said and then dumbly added, "Of course."
"Good," the captain said, "Do you know what happened to my last assistant?"
"Yes, sir," Key answered. "He was killed."
"He made a mistake and let out certain information. That information inevitably put him in harm's way." The captain corrected. "He was top of the line, and his death weighs heavily on my heart. I will not make the same mistake and send you out as ill-prepared as he was." He paused, collecting his thoughts. "When you are working for me, you directly represent me. It is imperative you speak, act, and look up to my standard at all times."
"Yes, sir," Key answered.
"Excellent," The captain spoke, lifting a leather satchel and setting it on the desk in front of him. "These are private correspondence that need to be delivered," he pulled out a folded and wax-sealed parchment from the satchel and pointed at the script on the front, "to these people. These letters will not be delivered to the addressee's housekeepers, wives, children, mothers, or the like. It will pass from your hands into the individual's hands that it is addressed to."
"Yes, sir," Key said, still standing.
"Go on then." The captain said with a shooing motion. "Report back when you're done."
Key picked up the bag with one hand saluted with the other and left the office.
The sun had just begun melting away the remnants of the previous night's fog, and Eulerous Key was overjoyed. It was still midmorning, and he was off the hook for the rest of the day. Sure, he had some letters to deliver, but who's to say how long that would take? If he delivered everything fast enough, he could take a midday nap, play a few games of dice, and then make the report that everything has been delivered. He would even have time to plan how he was going to get back at Jory for polishing his armor, even if his attempt fell flat.
He climbed hand-chiseled stairs to a rather large estate overlooking the borders of Royal City. Two stone statues made of wood and cast iron stood on either side of the door. An iron loop with silver and leather pierced the door like a nose ring on a pig. Key raised the metal knocker and made three simple taps on the door.
After a moment of silence, the door made a series of clicks and taps that indicated an unlocking and unlatching of the door. Another moment of silence and similar noises indicated a different lock was being pried away, then silence. Muffled curse words came through the door from a feminine voice and frustrated muffles from a younger one. Two women were arguing about how to open the door and who got the privilege of opening the door. A rattle sounding like spoons in a drawer leads to a decisive turn and click.
The door swung inward on a young woman wearing a simple black dress with white lacing. She was forcing a smile. Behind her was an old woman wearing a matching dress and a frown presumably formed from years of practice.
"Yes?" The young lady asked. The older woman cleared her throat pointedly. "I mean," she revised. "How may I help you, sir?"
"Good afternoon," Key reached into his bag and produced the wax-sealed parchment; it was the last of his deliveries. "I have a letter for a Mister Templeton."
"Thank you. I'll make sure he gets it," the young woman said, holding out her hand.
"I am on direct orders to hand deliver this to Mister Templeton himself." Key explained, withdrawing the letter from her reach. "Is he here?"
"He's down at the-" The young woman started but was moved aside.
"He is on an errand presently," the older woman amended. "He should be back this evening, but I can set it on his desk."
"I'll come back," Key said, putting the letter back into his empty satchel. He bid the housekeepers farewell before making his descent down the stairs. There was nothing left to do but wait, so he decided to do so over a pint.
The market moved with activity. The sound of coins on countertops and mixed voices bartering over various merchandise mixed in the air with the smell of bread, wool, and sea creatures. Key stopped at a fish merchant with an idea to get back at Jory.
"Good day, sir," The fish merchant greeted with a big oily smile. "You've come to the right place for the freshest fish in all of Royal. Caught these this morning."
"Actually, I'm looking for something…" Key started slowly. "Perhaps, not so fresh. I will take anything that is at least three days old if you have it."
"I run an honest business, sir," the merchant said. "I haven't been selling bad products, and I'm not looking for trouble with the law."
"No, no, no," Key said, holding his hands out in a disarming way. "I need something extra fishy for a joke. I'm not here to arrest anyone."
"Why didn't you say so? If you're trying to have a laugh, you've come to the right place." The merchant produced a fish and held it up. "This was caught a while ago. Legally, I can't say exactly how long but look at the fog in his eyes. This be what you're looking for and for only four coppers."
"Four?!" Key asked incredulously. "You would sell an old fish for full price? I'll give you one, and I won't tell everyone you're keeping nasty fish with the fresh ones."
"I'll sell it for three and throw it in a sack with citron leaves so you can carry it around without offending anyone." The merchant bartered.
"I will give you two and no more," Key countered back. "You're not getting a better price for that dross from anyone else."
"You drive a hard bargain," The merchant said. "You've got yourself a deal."
"I'll still take the citron leaves," Key set two coins down. "I have a reputation to keep."
Key walked cheerfully through the market, toting an old fish in a bag. He thought about all the best places to put it for optimum impact. He decided it should go under Jory's bed. That would show him. His thought was cut off by a shrill scream.
People were gathering around something in the street. Key walked over to find a dead body.
"Oh great," he muttered. His perfect day off had turned into a day of more work. Of course, he knew what to do, they drilled it into him since camp. If anything happens, blow the whistle, clear the area and if anyone arrives send for back-up. Not forgetting, of course, the most important rule: Ask questions until someone incriminates themselves.
"Everyone, stand clear!" Key said digging into his pockets to find his whistle had also been shined too. After marveling at the whistle, he blew several loud, long pulses. He then set the fish down next to the corpse and began gesturing for everyone to move back.
"Who saw what happened here?" He asked, wanting to wrap things up as fast as possible so he could drink a pint and plant the fish.
"I saw," an older woman said from just behind him. "There was shouting from the roof; this man was stabbed and then fell down."
"This roof?" Key said, pointing to the nearby building.
"Yes," The old woman said.
"Can you tell me what the killer looked like?" he asked, hoping someone would come and take over. "What was he wearing? What direction did he go? What else can you tell me?"
"I didn't catch any details," She said. "My eyes aren't as good as they used to be. Can I go now?"
"Yes, thank you," Key waved her away.
It seemed like an eternity later when, none other than Captain Castor rode up on a giant war horse with two guards on smaller mounts trailing behind. Key recognized the two as Jerome and Remero.
"Corporal Key, what a pleasant surprise," The captain spoke. "Report."
Key considered a moment, eager to deliver more than what was readily apparent, and described the circumstances that had befouled his afternoon plans. "I was searching for the last letter recipient when I heard some screams and shouts. There was this gentleman lying here dead and gathering a crowd of people around him. I acted as trained, blew my whistle, cleared the area, and questioned people. There was an old lady who saw this man fighting with another unrecognizable man on the roof just there," he pointed up towards the roof near the dead body. "The lady described a brawl; this man was stabbed, and here he landed. She was unable to recall anything else, so I let her go. Sir."
"It looks like my intuition about you was right," the captain said. "Even running errands, it appears you rise above and beyond the call of duty. You said you had one message left?"
"Yes, sir."
Captain Castor held out his hand and Key pressed the wax sealed message into it. "Consider this message delivered."
"Yes, sir. But –" Key started to ask.
"You see," The captain said, cutting off any questions. "The dead man is none other than Mister Templeton, who, as it happens, is the very man you were looking for. Now, I'm afraid I will have to draft another, more solemn, letter to his household, and I can't think of a better person to deliver it for me. However, we will let tomorrow's problems wait for tomorrow. You said this man was stabbed and fell here?"
Key replied in the affirmative as the captain circled the dead body and picked up the bag holding the fish. He put his nose directly on the fish and inhaled deeply. His face repelled. He set the fish back down and lifted the man's left arm to tilt him sideways. After observing his torso, the captain disappeared inside the building and moments later appeared at the spot on the roof where the murder had occurred. His head moved back and forth as if reading a book that was too large and too close. He disappeared over the ledge of the roof and shortly after stormed out of the building's front door, moving towards the body once more.
"This man has been dead for some time," the captain said at last. "There's no blood on the roof, there's no blood on the ground under him, and his skin is already cold. Furthermore, his fish is starting to putrefy. Whoever gave you this misinformation about a fight was probably paid to do so or a culprit. Either way, she is more than likely long gone, as is the killer."
Key's heart sunk into the pit of his stomach. He should have kept the old lady around for more questioning. He at least tried to do the right thing.
"Don't lose heart," the captain said as if reading Key's mind. "I've fallen for bad information before. Some lessons only come from time and experience. If you are fooled, always try to never be fooled in the same way again. I'm sure you will smell the fish next time before ever letting a false witness go, won't you corporal?"
"Yes, sir." Key said at attention. "I am sorry."
"Don't be sorry," the captain said. "Just smell the fish."
"I will, sir," Key replied.
"Now," the captain said after relieving the dead man of one of his rings and a coin purse. He gestured to Key and the two other guards before ordering, "Help clear the road and take the rest of the evening off. One of you get in contact with the death wagoner to have this man hauled off for burial. Pay him with these." He gave one of the guardsman two silver coins proffered from the purse.
"Corporal," he looked at Key, "tell your sergeant I will require your services first thing in the morning. See to it that he removes you from the watch bill."
"Yes, sir!" Key acknowledged. He was echoed by the two other guards in unison.
The captain turned on his heel, mounted his horse, and rode off.
Key helped move the body to the side of the road. "I have to get back to the barracks," he said, wiping his hands on his pants. "If you want, I can get rid of this fish for you on my way there?"
Jerome, the Guardsman, looked around conspiratorially. "Don't worry about it," he said, picking up the fish and throwing it on the roof of the building the captain had just been considering. "What fish?" he asked.
Key frowned. He went through a lot of work for that fish, but it was probably for the best. He didn't want a dead fish somehow linking him to a murder, or rather, a murder linking him to a dead fish. He thanked Jerome and carried on walking through the market. Even in uniform, the merchants still called out their wares to him. After a while, one of the voices stood out from the rest and perked his interests.
"Sweet-smelling perfume," the merchant called. "Perfume is the perfect gift for that special someone! Do you have a special someone in your life?" He asked.
In fact, there was a special someone in Key's life. He was surprised he hadn't gotten this special someone perfume before. Already, he was feeling better about his lost fish after all.
Back at the barracks, Key uncorked his rather expensive prank and smelled it. The scents of flowers and spices filled him with a wicked excitement. He placed the bottle in Jory's footlocker, strategically positioned in a tunic with the cork gently placed on top of the bottle. When retrieved, the tunic would spill the potion, cursing his clothes with the aura of flowers. He hoped that it would be spilled before it was smelled. He then left the barracks and walked across the courtyard to the sergeant's offices.
Standing outside Sergeant Dilly's office, he took a deep breath and then knocked three times. When beckoned inside, he stood at attention and made his report. "Good afternoon, sergeant. Captain Castor has ordered me to request you take me off the watch bill for tomorrow."
The sergeant, looking through stacks of parchments, stopped what he was doing and looked up. Dilly could not have been younger than fifty years old. His skin was the dark leather that only came from standing, unmoving under the sky and little else, in every weather condition. This man had earned his station, not from exchanging pleasantries or rubbing elbows with politics, but from allowing his hard work and determination to outshine his lack of charm. Lack of charm being the sole reason it took him so long to get to where he was. "I take it you're done with whatever the captain needed you for today?"
"Yes, sergeant," Key said, standing at attention.
"Good, I need you to eat and relieve Corporal Thomas at the castle's North entrance," the sergeant said with a sparkle in his eye. I wouldn't want to waste that shiny armor."
"The captain told me to take the rest of the day off," Key explained, hoping the sergeant would be reasonable and retract his orders.
"Oh, did he now?" the sergeant asked, making another entry on the parchment. "Well, next time the captain writes the watch bill, I'll make sure to remind him that you prefer earning your pay while asleep. The schedule I have prepared, however, looks like you will be pulling a double to make up for the time you won't be on watch tomorrow. You can prance around with the captain tomorrow after morning assembly."
"Why would I need to attend the morning assembly if I'm not standing watch?" Key asked, realizing he was treading a fine line between the logical and the petulant.
"Because," the sergeant said, suppressing his anger. "If I don't see your smiling face in the morning, I'll have you flogged for disobeying a direct order from your superior. Does that answer your question?" The sergeant replied in a clipped tone.
Key's hopes of getting some rest were replaced with a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. There was no use arguing with him.
This wasn't the first time Key had fallen prey to the whims of his seniority, and it wouldn't be the last. "Yes, sergeant." He said as calmly as possible and was dismissed.