The young clerk busy at his desk looked up as the figure came through the door. The paperwork he was involved in was suddenly forgotten as he scrambled to his feet and stood straight as a javelin.
“My lady?”
Catilina smiled at him.
“At ease, man. You must be new. Is Tarsus around?”
“Er, no, ma’am” the young man replied. “He’s in the town with the council. Can I help, ma’am?”
Catilina shook her head.
“Just here for some supplies. Just ignore me. I’ll be out of your hair in just a minute.”
The young man continued to stand, torn between two courses of action.
“Er…”
“What?” Catilina asked pleasantly.
“It’s rules, ma’am. No one can just help themselves. We’ve got to keep charge.”
Catilina laughed a carefree laugh.
“Oh don’t be so silly. I’ve been taking things out of here since I was four. Just get on with your work. My father’s waiting for me, so I have to hurry.”
The young man struggled for a moment longer and then gave up and visibly deflated slightly.
“Very well, ma’am. But please leave everything the way you found it, or master Tarsus will hoist me for it.”
Catilina nodded and crouched by one of the large wooden cabinets at the back of the office. Unlocking the door with the key that sat jutting out, she scanned the contents. Damn it. Someone had reorganised the office. Closing and locking the door, she moved on to the next large cupboard and opened that. A quick scan and she saw what she was looking for. At the back, a pile of very neat, official looking papers.
She smiled and fished two out. She was about to close the cupboard again when another thought struck her and she had another glance around the interior. With a smile, she fished out a different paper, several sheets of meaningless bureaucratic paperwork and, closing the door, stood straight. As subtly as she could manage, she tucked her four prizes in among the unimportant paper. Smiling, she noted that the young man was going about his work, deliberately not looking in her direction.
Almost laugh, she collected a charcoal stick, a seal-stamp, hammer, lead discs and wax from the rear-most desk and slid them into a pocket in her skirts. With a warm smile she crossed the room and stopped at the door to look back at the clerk.
“Thank you, kind sir. Perhaps I’ll be back for more supplies later. I’ll be sure to tell Tarsus how accommodating you were.”
The clerk gave her a nervous smile and, as she left the room, Catilina felt a little cruel. The lad would probably lose his position for this. Still, he shouldn’t have let her have free reign among the office paperwork, should he?
Almost skipping along the corridor, she took three more side turnings and arrived at another door. This door, however, was dark and solid, locked and protected by a guard who stood to attention and almost strained something trying to stand even further to attention as the most important lady in Vengen appeared in front of him. These were ordinary soldiers of the garrison, not the veteran black-clad marshal’s guard.
She smiled.
“For Gods’ sake man, at ease. You’ll rupture something.”
The guard gave a brief smile and then fell serious again.
“If you would be so good, I need to retrieve something for my father.”
“Ma’am?”
She smiled inwardly.
“I need a sash of office for the marshal’s guard. My father’s transferring Captain Varro to his own unit. He can collect his uniform later, but we need the sash now.”
The guard frowned and opened his mouth but Catilina interrupted.
“Look, you can go in and get it for me if you like. It’s only a damn sash.”
The guard continued to frown and then gave a curt nod.
“I’ll have to find it for you ma’am. If you would kindly wait here.”
Catilina nodded and smiled. She folded her arms as the guard turned and fumbled with his keys. Finally finding the correct one, he unlocked the door to the uniform store room.
As he pulled the door open, behind his, Catilina unfolded her arms. In one was the seal hammer; around a foot long, narrow and tapering, with a wooden mallet head, coated in steel for hammering the marshal’s seal in lead. The guard began to turn towards her and caught the full force of the seal hammer on his temple. His eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped to the floor. With a smiled, Catilina pocked the hammer once more and climbed over the recumbent guard and into the room. She game a small laugh as she pored over the racks and racks and shelves of clothing by the light of the window on the outer wall, mulling over what sizes she thought might fit Varro and Salonius. The young man might be a problem, she thought, as she retrieved the largest garment in stock.
Finally, her arms full of garments, she put them to one side and, bending down, grasped the wrists of the guard and dragged him slowly into the room. Once he was fully inside, she collected the pile of clothing, closed the door behind her and locked it with the guard’s key.
Laughing and almost with a skip to her step, she walked off toward the stables.
Varro ran to his room as soon as they separated, gathered all his things and rolled them up and stuffed them unceremoniously in his kit. He’d carefully selected several large burlap bags rather than the saddle bags they’d arrived with. A little too unsubtle, wandering around with saddle bags. As he left his room, the marshal’s guard standing at attention in the corridor coughed.
“What?
“What do you think you’re doing, sir?”
Varro gave him an unhappy look.
“It seems we’re going to be here for a while and we’re involved in the upcoming trials and tribulations. The Marshal wants us to look smart, so we’re cleaning and tidying all our kit.”
The captain turned his back on the man, who looked distinctly unconvinced, and entered Salonius’ room. Damn it. He was no good at deception. He’d carefully prepared his excuse and tried to pass it off to the guard as naturally as he could but, as he thought back over what he’d just said, it sounded more like a prepared speech the more he repeated it in his head. Damn it. Let’s hope the guards were as bad at detecting lies as he was at telling them.
He wandered over to Salonius’ bed and cupboard and almost laughed out loud at how everything was laid out, neat and clean. Even the folding shovel the engineer carried gleamed like shiny steel. His clothing was stacked in piles: tunics, breeches, socks, underwear, scarves. It was ridiculous. Even his small personal items were arranged by type and size. Varro chuckled as he grasped the two bags from the floor and thoughtlessly stuffed everything messily inside.
As he finally forced the second bag shut with some difficulty, he collected his own bag and picked up Salonius’ three.
“Shit!”
He almost buckled under the weight. How could the lad carry this stuff for hours at a time? He must be made of rock and iron, the tough little sod! Shifting the weight to a position that was only slightly less uncomfortable, he let out an explosive breath and left the room, feeling like a pack mule.
The two guards in the corridor, who were now standing together and had obviously been chatting, tried to restrain their laughter as a collection of sacks and bags came fumbling out of the young soldier’s room, with a person somewhere underneath, grunting and breathing heavily.
“Would you like a hand with that down to the laundry, sir?”
Varro puffed and panted and tried unsuccessfully to straighten. Natural. That was the key. Be natural! He grumbled.
“No, you’re alright. Should have let him come and get his own stuff. We might be a while, looking at the amount of shit he carries. He can carry it back up, while I go to the garrison surgeon for back repairs!”