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My boss slapped the rolls of parchment on my desk. One immediately rolled right off again.
“All yours.”
“Another one? I’ve got three already.”
“So now you have four. Try and them done if you can, will you? We don’t have much longer here.”
I shut up. He’s all right really. Most of our supervisors are permanent staff, some of them okloi, and if you have a problem with that when you arrive they’ll make sure you get over yourself quickly enough.
I’ve been at the palace five years now: another two to go.
Sometimes people treat you like dirt because you’re indentured, even if they’re only in the guard because their parents bought them a commission. Never mind that we’re patronoi too, that our parents have sent us to be educated and improve our prospects and not just for the tax exemption. Seven years under your belt and you can look forward to a decent career in the palace. Maybe even aim at one of the top jobs. Unless you really want to go back and rusticate in some dull local job as a magistrate or something, which I suppose is a choice.
Of course we don’t get paid; we just get food and accommodation, and pretty basic accommodation at that, but some of the others have a decent allowance from home and can afford to go posturing at the fencing salle like true patronoi. Most of the rest of us do a bit of sword practice in the palace yard when we can, but that’s as far as it goes. I’m not complaining, my parents give me what they can. I’m the sixth child.
So I’ve served my time. Kept my head down, got some education, done some clerking, then started working a junior job in the treasury, and now I’m in the tax offices. Not as dull as it sounds. Or not always. It’s quite a laugh sometimes when you see that people you know are appalling social climbers haven’t really got two cities to their name, or not that they want to tell us about. Or the other way round – turns out my mother’s cousin is married to a really wealthy miser. Must be maddening for her. I wouldn’t say it out loud but the work can be quite rewarding – give me a baron with mysteriously vanishing patronoi who’s trying to claim exemption from shield tax and I’ll get it sorted out and enjoy doing it.
It’s different now, of course. Taxes – well, they can wait. These are the last assessments that’ll get done for now. We’re moving down to what they’re calling the war offices – former meeting rooms mostly, plus some of the navy department, but much nearer the heart of the palace than the warren of tax offices.
Not so many jokes now, less messing around; we’re just too busy. There’s plenty to do, organising all the paperwork needed for the logistics of war. I can’t help thinking of my family; my father and brothers answering the call, my mother and sisters proud and anxious. Me, well, I’d go if I could, but we’re too useful here – the queen won’t release us. People have tried, pulled strings and so on, but I can see why they’ve been refused. Still, it feels strange and rather uncomfortable to discover you’re more useful as a paper-and-parchment-pusher than a soldier for your country. It’s not what you’re brought up to expect.
At least the army clerks are happy enough to have our assistance, even if we were a bit clueless about procurement and so on at first. And the guards have become slightly less superior about us practising at swords. A few of them strolled over to criticise us. I didn’t mind, actually, because they weren’t too patronising. One took me up on my half-serious offer to let him practice any particular move he wanted on me. I’ve missed out on any proper training, so it’s all useful, even if he can humiliate me with embarrassingly little effort. Of course you only have to look at him to see what years of training can do for you. And he’s the sort that looks good in uniform.
Yes, OK, maybe I’ve got a bit of a crush.
We’ve met up a couple of times now. It’s good to be able to discuss something other than my personal daily grind, and perhaps I’m a distraction for him, because it can’t be an easy time. Away from the other guards, he’s less full of bravado, and maybe I’m a bit less defensive, as he says. He’s actually a few months younger than me, though he seems older. Perhaps it’s the thought that he’ll be going off to war in a week or so. I told him about my family, and he told me he’s an only son. Hard on his mother, that.
He knew the full story of the Eddisian trial, a whole lot more detail than had filtered out to us. But I did see the Oracle: we had all watched, astounded, when she came to the palace. The Oracle’s favour and this strange story of the king’s miracle has put heart back into everyone. The queen ordered a day’s holiday and wine for the citizens. Here in the palace we didn’t get the holiday, but the two of us drank some wine together that night, knowing it was likely our last chance for a while.
Most of us went out to watch the army depart. Like many others, I slipped out through the palace gates ahead of the procession to watch them all pass. The mood in the capital was still mostly positive; mothers were holding up their children to watch the soldiers, and girls were throwing flowers to the guards as they went by.
I picked up a small posy which had dropped near my foot. Well, why not, I thought. I threw it his head and shouted something stupid to make him laugh. His squad leader gave me a bit of a look, but I didn’t care.
*****