“So when are you going to invite me to visit your bakery?” I asked Percy, somewhat jokingly.

He mumbled something noncommittal.

“What? I didn’t hear you, honestly.”

“I said, I don’t know.”

“You’ve said that a lot today. What’s something that you do know?”

“I know that I wasn’t super honest today.” He paused as we followed the line’s movement forward. “My father… he doesn’t want to see me again. In fact, when he dropped me off at the Army Office, he said he only wants my uniform to come back with a medal and certificate.”

“Oh. That’s rough. Don’t do anything stupid because of that. You're worth more than his approval, you know. Just saying.” I kicked a rock into the street.

“Sure.”

Finally, we reached the front of the line. We got our bowls from our knapsacks. A soldier ladled out mystery meat in broth and handed us one roll each.

“Should we eat in our room, or…” I asked Percy.

“Carrington, or whatever his name is, kinda creeped me out. Maybe in the ballroom, like the sergeant said.”

“Would you rather see Carrington now, while it’s light, or go up there in the dark? He gave me the shivers too, but I think I’d rather get used to it now, while the sun’s still up. Maybe the other roommates will be there.”

“True,” he conceded. “Okay, let’s go.”

I carefully carried my bowl of soup up the staircase and opened the door to our room. Nothing had changed, except now a lanky man laid on his side on the bed above mine, the one with the photograph tacked at eye level. He was probably only a year or two older than me.

He saw my uniform before I could see his. “Hello, Private. Private Jack Weller here. But as long as no officers are around, you can call me Jack. Corporal Carrington doesn't count as an officer: he’s dead to the world.” He added a slight lilt to the end of his words.

“Private Weller, nice to meet ya. Private Bloomfield,” I said, indicating myself, “and Private Baker here. How long have you been at this hotel?”

Behind me, I heard Percy sit down and slurp up his soup. The mattress groaned in protest as I sat next to him and listened to Private Weller.

“Been here since we liberated this town. Got some shrapnel in my arm and leg, so I've been recuperating since. Can’t wait to get back to the battlefield!” He said sarcastically.

“Getting dark, isn’t it?” Percy said in a wobbly voice. “We’re allowed to use the light, right?”

“Sure, if you want to blow this hotel to bits!” Private Weller smiled. “At least it’d put poor Carrington out of his misery. The gas is operational, sure, but with all the smokers around here, one spark and we all go down in flames! I’ve got one candle; do you two have any?”

“I think so,” I said, and produced an unused taper from my knapsack, along with a match. I cut the string on my candle as Jack struck a match on the bed frame. Percy and I held out our candles to be lit. I placed mine on the tiny dresser at the foot of the bed. “Hey, here’s a candle holder,” I said as I found it. “Here, Percy, you can use it.”

He thanked me and put his candle on it.

“I don’t recognize either of you,” Jack said slowly. “So either you’re spies, or new here. Which is it?”

“Definitely not spies,” Percy laughed.

“We are part of a, um, exclusive team. Just the two of us.” I tried to explain.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

“Oh, one of you must be the poor lad that replaced the messenger birds.”

We’re supposed to be secret! How does literally everyone know about us?

“Uh, maybe,” I replied.

“Mhm.” Jack cleaned his nails with a pocketknife.

Percy took a bite of his roll and asked, “So, Jack, where are you from?”

I ate my supper and listened. Jack was from Freyish, a town in Egron. “Freyish? That’s an interesting name. Do you know how that came about?”

“It used to be called Pinehurst, boring name, right, until a bunch of refugees came from Freyland, my family included. It's just like Torquay, Freyland's capital, was.”

I almost choked on my roll. Jack is from Freyland!? Now I placed the accent - a diluted Freylandian. Just like my own. Most people didn’t notice, but it always lurked.

There is a whole town full of Freylandians?! Why didn’t the king let me live there? I’m sure someone could’ve considered adopting me.

“I - I have so many questions,” I said quickly.

“Are you from Freyland, too?” He asked.

“What! How did you know?” I sputtered.

“It’s the accent. I have an ear for them. And your curly hair is the same as everyone else’s. Mine is curly too, just short right now. What part of Freyland did you live in?”

“My father was Judge Bloomfield. If he wasn’t the nicest to you, don’t sweat it. He wasn’t the nicest to everyone else, either. Anyway, we lived in Torquay, in the brick house across the street from the courthouse.”

“No way! My family lived on top of the cooper a few blocks down. And actually, I never met Judge Bloomfield, but I definitely heard about him! Did he survive the takeover?”

“No, he didn’t. I think I know the cooper you're talking about. Small world, isn't it?”

Jack sat up and hunched over to fit under the low ceiling. His shoulders were surprisingly wide, for someone so thin. “Was it you or your brother that’s good at alem?”

“I’d consider myself decent, but you’re probably thinking of Von, my brother. He was always playing alem, until it was too dark to see! Did you play?”

“Was? Okay. Yes, I played alem. I’m no good at it. My coordination is terrible. That’s why I’m such a bad soldier, and why I got hit with that shrapnel in the first place. I didn’t get out of the way in time.”

“I’ve only played alem once,” Percy said. “I know it's the national sport and everything, but just the one time for me.”

“They didn’t have you play it in school?” I asked.

“The school I went to didn’t play alem.”

“We’ll have to help you, then.” Jack said firmly. “My friends and I played all the time.”

“You can give it a try,” I said.

“Maybe in the morning,” Percy said. “If we haven’t left yet.”

“I thought there weren't any squadrons leaving tomorrow.”

“We’re our own squadron,” Percy said.

“Yeah, which one of you is the secretly super tough commando, then, and which one of you carries the secrets?” Jack laughed.

“That’s classified,” I replied.

Jack rolled his eyes obnoxiously. “Of course it is.”

“Is there a pump where we can wash our bowls?” Percy asked.

“You want to wash your bowl?” I asked incredulously. “I just wiped mine out with my roll. Bam, clean!”

“Some of us have standards of cleanliness, Callum. I don’t want my bowl to have something growing on it next time I take it out.”

“I think there’s a fresh water spigot by the cookhouse, the building that they served supper from. Try there first.” Jack offered.

“I’ll go do that,” Percy said, and grabbed the candle in its holder. “Want to come with me, Callum?”

“Nah, that’s okay.”

“Okay. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” I replied. He left and shut the door behind him. “Read the newspapers lately, Jack?”

“No, not recently. Why, did something interesting happen?”

“Well, the Triumdemic finally went to court, this is the first case they've been directly involved in,” I started.

“Interesting; go on.”

I summarized the article like I did for Shaphan and Percy. Jack listened and asked the occasional question. As the conversation wound down, I asked Jack something that I’d been wondering about. "You said you lived above the cooper a few blocks from the courthouse. But I don’t remember a family with the last name of Weller there."

“Really? Huh. We were there. Maybe you don’t remember right.” Jack shrugged and shifted to get more comfortable.

“Maybe,” I replied. I had knew the Wellers. Three girls and their parents. Von had a crush on the oldest sister for the longest time. So if Jack isn’t a Weller, who is he?