Key had enough time to scarf down cold ham and a quarter loaf of bread before making his way to the castle doors. His fingertips smelled faintly of perfume, but there was no time to wash off the incriminating evidence; the city bell had already begun ringing. If it struck a fourteenth time and he hadn't arrived at his watch station, he could make enemies with the person he was about to relieve.

The bell struck four times as Key arrived at the castle's North entrance. There were two guards, one on either side of the massive, decorative doors. He nodded at the guard on the right, whom he recognized as John Sutton, before standing in front of Thomas with a fist on his chest. "I stand ready to relieve you." He recited the formal turn-over verbiage. If he were anywhere other than the castle's front steps, he would have said something like, "Kick rocks naive" or "I got this, go drink a pint for me."

"I thought you had the day off," Thomas whispered, returning the salute. "What are you doing here."

"Sarge had a stick up his ass," Key whispered back, not betraying the look of professionalism they portrayed. "He's got me doing a double tonight."

A grunt came from the guard on his right. It was all he could do to express empathy for his fellow man.

"Ah, blackened shields, mate. I'm sorry about that." Thomas whispered and then said in a full baritone voice, "The watch station is secure."

"It's no problem, and thanks," Key whispered and then, in a theatrical voice, said, "I relieve you of your post."

The two dropped their salute, switched places, and saluted again. Without another word, Thomas turned and left.

Unable to speak to anyone, Key stared stoically off into the horizon. As minutes turned to hours, the sun dipped below the west mountains. The sky became dark and dotted with stars. John Sutton's relief came. The proper words were spoken, but instead of leaving, John Sutton stood in front of Key.

"Do you want a piss break before I leave?" He said softly.

"That would be great," Key replied.

"I stand ready to relieve you," John said.

After they had switched places, Key used the latrine and stood to trade back.

"I stand ready to relieve you." Key saluted.

"If you want to grab something to eat, stretch your legs, or whatever. I can handle this for a while longer." John said quietly.

"Thanks, John, but I'll be fine," Key replied, risking a smile. "If you fall asleep where you stand, you'll still get less than six hours of sleep before assembly. Besides, I'm not even on the watch bill tomorrow."

John nodded resolutely and spoke. "The watch station is secure."

"I relieve you of your post."

The sixth bell rang, and the morning assembly was called to attention. The room grew quiet as Captain Watford entered the room. Sounds of shuffling feet on the floor and clinking armor squelched the sounds of foot falls as the captain took center stage next to the platoon leaders. The sergeant indicated that the roll call was complete.

"Good Morning Men!" The captain called out.

"Good morning, sir!" the men replied, followed by a pause and from a lone feminine voice, "Good morning, sir!".

He took a mental note to address them all as guards from now on because Trudie wanted to make it a point to remind him, they weren't all men. He shook off the interruption. "I'm glad to hear yesterday went without major incident," he continued speaking to the crowd, "Aside from of course, certain repeat offenders."

A few glanced at Keebler, whose blush nearly matched his red hair. Everyone knew he would inevitably be assigned bridge duty for the seventh consecutive week in a row.

"Remember these words well," The captain began pacing along the ranks. "If you have to use the latrine, send for someone to relieve you of your watch station. If you cannot wait for a relief, maybe you should lighten up on the ale. I will not stand for anything less than official turn overs." The captain trailed off. He smelled the air. "What is that smell?"

The room was silent. Having stayed up all night, Key had forgotten about the perfume bottle he had planted the night before, but he remembered now. The room did smell uncharacteristically nice.

The captain walked around smelling. He seemed to pick up on the trail as he followed his nose through rank and file, carelessly shouldering past people, including Key, as he searched for the source of the smell.

He stopped in front of a plump-looking guard with long, curly hair and an embarrassed expression.

"Oh my! That is quite pungent," The captain said, waving the air, spreading the smell further. "Sound off, dandy!"

"Ansel Jory, 4th battalion, sir," Jory announced with a military professionalism that betrayed his scent.

"Will you explain to me and the people standing within a thousand feet of you why you smell like the highest quality brothel I have ever had the privilege of walking past?" The captain asked with a stern voice, sounding somewhere between humorous and belligerently angry.

In spite of having stayed up all night miserably on his feet, this moment had made it all worthwhile. Key knew Jory wasn't going to turn him in. If he did, he would have betrayed the brotherhood of the guard. No one would trust him after that, and he would find himself in a position similar to Keebler, who couldn't relieve himself around the corner without someone telling on him for leaving his post.

"Well?" The captain asked, hovering over Jory. "Speak up so they can hear you in the back."

"I bought the fragrance for a girl," Jory said, coming up with the lie in real-time. "But the glass broke on my way here. So now I smell like this."

"Likely story, however, I will give you the benefit of the doubt on this. Just get yourself cleaned up and report to your duty station." The captain shifted his attention to the sergeant. "Where is his duty station?"

"Patrolling the west courtyard, relieving…" Dilly flipped through the papers in his hands.

"I'm sure you can all work that out later. Make sure this incident is documented," the captain moved back toward the center of the assembly. "Until then, I don't want any more perfume bottle accidents. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir!" The Assembly joined in unison.

After they were dismissed, Key received secret smiles, winks, and pats on the back from his brothers at arms. For them, the quarrel between him and Jory was more than a routine spectacle; it was something to look forward to. It was a moment of good cheer in an otherwise monotonous environment.

Exhausted from his double watch duty, Key made his way to the office of investigations. After he knocked and was let in, he stood at attention in front of the dark, wood-stained desk as the captain made scratching noises on a piece of parchment with a long, goose-feather quill.

"You can be seated," the captain said, pausing momentarily to chew on a thought, pressing the feather to his chin. "What was the first thing I told you yesterday in my office?"

"About an axiom, sir?" Key asked uncertainly.

"Yes, I suppose I did mention something like that first," the captain mumbled to himself. "The second thing I told you then, about everything that happens in here when you are in my service."

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"Oh, yes, sir," Key said, understanding what he was getting at. "You said that whatever happens, I should keep my lips sealed about it."

"Precisely corporal," the captain said, smiling. "The instructions I give you are part of that. When I say "at ease," I don't mean stand at parade rest; I want you to forget all, and I do mean all, military courtesy. When you and I are the only ones in the room, you will make yourself at home in the most respectful definition of the idea. If someone knocks, you will pop to attention over here," he motioned towards the right side of his desk, "and you will remain there until that person leaves. I don't care if that person is the Chambermaid or General Calcutta himself."

"Yes, sir," Key replied.

"Corporal," the captain said.

"Yes, sir?" Key replied.

"At ease."

"Yes, sir," Key replied and then looked around and found a chair to sit in.

He sat as the captain continued scribbling words on a sheet of paper. Key's chair was upholstered with animal skin. Brown and white fur brushed the back of his plate armor. The comfort of sitting, mixed with the scratching sounds of the captain's penmanship, relaxed Key into a sitting sleep.

Key could have slept standing up. Anybody with military experience had developed this tactic out of sheer necessity to maintain his or her vigor. Straight-backed and high-headed, key allowed himself to slip, ever so slightly, into a peaceful rest. He was so blissful, in fact, that he failed to notice the ceasing of the pen scratches. The captain cleared his throat, and Key's eyes popped open, stature unmoving.

"I thought you had gone to sleep on me for a minute." The captain said.

"I was just resting my eyes, sir." Key admitted. "It was a long night."

"Took the night out on the town?" the captain asked, seemingly neutral.

"Sergeant made me pull a double when I got back," Key said matter-of-factly. "He said that since you were taking me off the watch bill today, I should make up for it."

"Did you not understand my direct order to take the rest of the day off?" the captain said, slow boiling anger punctuating his words. "Or did you assume that working for me was a thankless, perkless job reserved solely for the lowest of dimwits that they should think getting stabbed was the best way to avoid all of the extra responsibility?"

"Neither, sir." Key stood to attention. It was an unconscious reflex drilled into him from the very beginning of his career. "I told the sergeant that you had given me the rest of the day off, but he said…" he paused, thinking better of breaking the brotherhood of the guard. If he incriminated his sergeant, his life could very well become a living nightmare. "He told me that he was short on men yesterday."

"At ease, man," the captain waved him down, anger cooling behind his eyes.

Key sat down.

"So, they had you up all night standing watch before turning you over to me?" It wasn't a question. He seemed to ponder the idea out loud before coming to a personal resolve. "We should do something about that, shouldn't we?"

Key, not knowing how to respond to the question, nodded awkwardly once.

"Take this letter to late Mister Stapleton's estate. It doesn't matter whose hands it goes to, just as long as it gets there. It's a letter explaining their unfortunate loss in hopes of clearing up some confusion. Deliver it solemnly."

Key took the letter and, after some more brief instructions, left. The sun had gotten brighter since he entered the office earlier, but the air was crisp. The breeze simultaneously gave Key a burst of energy and reminded him how tired he was. He smiled at his exhaustion the way one might smile at a child threatening them with a stick; it was no match for his ability to press forward.

It was a quiet walk through the city. A handful of birds that had not yet migrated for the winter sang to the rhythm of the clip-clap of his footsteps. The song brought him to the now familiar cobblestone stairs he had climbed the day before. It felt like an eternity ago. At the top, he grasped the door knocker and made three loud taps.

He stood there, his imagination unfurling as he thought of Jory's clever response to the perfume spilled on his tunic. He had to hand it to the man; he was a formidable opponent. If things had been different, Jory might have made a good friend. Their feud had made Key who he was today, even if he distrusted drinking anything he didn't personally pour.

His thoughts brought him back to the present. He was still standing in front of the giant hardwood doors. How long had he been waiting there? He knocked again and waited. There was no response. He had a moment of panic that he wouldn't get any sleep until his message had been delivered. He knocked furiously at the door, ten knocks in a row. He grew anxious and paced.

Determining that if no one was inside the house, it must mean they were in the back. Not wanting to waste any more time, he rounded the house. On the side, he found a path of bricks set into the ground leading into a garden. He made his way through bushes that were brown from the winter's cycle. He tried to imagine the garden looking more welcoming in the spring as opposed to the empty, haunted thing he was trespassing through. No one was around; even the birds had left this place alone.

Straining his neck, he saw that the back door was ajar. Relief washed over him. He called out, "Hello!" No one replied, so he approached the back door.

Dirt and leaves had blown into the doorway. Peering into the house, he saw there was no light, no noise, and none of the normal bustling about that took place inside estates such as this.

"Hello?" he asked the empty air, pushing the door open. "Royal Guard, your door is wide open. I'm here on official business. Is anyone home?"

There was nothing, and then a bang.

"I can hear someone is inside," he said, annoyed. "I have a message to deliver, and then I will be on my way." On my way to bed, he thought.

Bang, bang, bang.

"Hello?" he asked the open air and then noticed for the first time the disarray of the place. Cabinets were open, plates and cutlery were scattered around, and paintings lay broken on the ground.

Bang, bang, bang.

He drew his sword and entered. Seeing nobody on the first floor, he climbed the steps, finally realizing how crazy all of it was. The banging was getting louder, so he followed the noise closer to the source, sword at the ready.

He turned the knob and pushed the door open a small amount. He then backed up, holding his sword to point toward the crack of light, and charged. His heart hammered in his chest, sweat already pooling under his clothes. He shoved the door open with his foot. Light from the window washed over him.

In the center of the room sat the two women he had spoken to the day before. Still wearing matching uniforms, old and young, the two sat back to back with their hands tied to a massive bedpost. He almost forgot to inspect the rest of the room as he ran to free them. Untying their gags, he pulled the saliva-soaked strips of cloth away from their faces.

"Oh, thank the creator!" the older one exclaimed, working her jaw. The younger one gave similar exclamations as Key began working on the knots that tied their arms.

"Is there anyone else in the house?" He asked.

"I don't think so," The older one said. "The bandits left while it was still dark. We haven't heard from anyone for hours. They tied us up, gagged us, and then robbed the house. How did you know to come save us? Who are you?"

"I'm Corporal Key," he said, finishing the first knot and beginning working on the other. "I have a letter to deliver. What are your names?"

"My name is Eloise," The older one said. "And this is Elisabeth."

"I am in your debt," Elisabeth said, rubbing her wrists. Color began returning to her cheeks.

"It's nothing," Key said, feeling color creep into his cheeks as well. "I was doing my job. Now, I have some rather unfortunate correspondence to deliver, and then I have a report to make."

Key handed Eloise the wax-sealed letter and investigated the rest of the house. Sword in hand, he searched room after disheveled room. Desks and bookshelves lay toppled over, and their contents were dumped in piles on the floor. Parchments mingled among cracked or chipped dishes. Only the chamber pots sat undisturbed. He unlocked the front door and swung it inward.

Stepping out into the sunlight, Key brought out and marveled at his whistle. It was still shiny. For the second time in his whole career, he brought the whistle to his lips and blew. He blew continuously in short bursts until two guards ran up the steps, one after the other. He explained the situation and sent one of them to get help. Before he knew it, the house and property were swarming with guards. He stood around uselessly, still tired from standing watch the day before.

Sergeant Allister listened to the reports Key made and then took over as the primary overseer for the crime. Captain Castor appeared, and the sergeant passed the responsibility of overseer to him and explained the series of events that had transpired. Key stood close by, making sure he got the story right.

"Corporal Key," the captain said. "It seems you have a gift."

"Just doing my job, sir." Key said wanting the conversation to get to the part where he gets sent away to sleep it off.

"But twice in two days?" the captain asked. "I'm beginning to think you might be very good at doing your job."

"Perhaps, sir," Key said. "It's possible the two crimes were related. You know, word got out about the dead man, and thieves realized that no one would be around to protect the place, so they robbed it. I just happened to be the one who showed up because I had a letter explaining the man's death in the first place."

The captain looked surprised at this insight and instinctively reached for his pipe. "That doesn't sound like a bad theory. Thieves catch wind of the late Mister Templeton's death, so they rob his house. Allister, what do you think?"

"It sounds, sound enough for me, sir." The sergeant agreed.

Key decided to try his luck with a more direct route. "Is there anything else I can do for you today, or may I take my leave?" he asked.

"There are several things I can think of," the captain said. "But that can wait for tomorrow if you want to get some rest?"

"Yes, sir," Key said gratefully. "I would like that very much."

"Go get some rest, then," the captain said and then moved close so only Key could hear. "Don't bother checking in with your sergeant. I will inform him that you will not be attending the morning assembly. Instead, report to my office at the sixth bell. I have a very time-sensitive mission, and it would help if you left your current chain of command out of it. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Key acknowledged. He kept his face passive, saluted, and then made his way to the barracks. After some cold meat and warm beer, he told the barracks watch to wake him well before the sixth bell. He then climbed the stairs to his room and collapsed on his pillow.