The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Fifty-Eight

The clerk on duty in the eastern tower of the citadel that night paused just long enough to straighten his jacket before knocking on the door to the Chancellor's chambers.

It was late, and he couldn't decide whether it would be worse to have the Chancellor alert and answer him immediately, or to have to keep on knocking in order to wake the man's slumber.

As it was, the call to enter came a few seconds later, sounding neither sleep-filled nor harsh. For the first time the clerk considered a third and infinitely more terrifying option: that the Chancellor may be off duty and indulging in leisurely pursuits.

The clerk braced himself for the sight of the Chancellor reading a book, or perhaps, the gods forbid, playing with a deck of cards, but instead found him looking out the window at the courtyard below, his hands behind his back. On this side of the citadel, you could still smell the smoke from that terrible fire.

All the clerks had been shocked when the Chancellor had told them to stand down and let those murderers do as they wished to the name books, but they did as they were told. No one ever questioned the Chancellor. Without a King on the throne, he was the de facto ruler of Serrador. Although honestly, even when there was a monarch in place, everyone knew that the wearer of the crown would be a fool to ignore the Chancellor's words.

The clerk bowed, not knowing if the Chancellor was watching him or not but not wanting to risk it.

"I take it her royal highness has reached the brotherhood of the scribes?" said the Chancellor without turning around.

"Yes, Lord Chancellor," said the clerk, still trying to catch his breath. It was a long way to run from the eastern side of the citadel and the clerk was more adept at transcribing at full pelt than running at it.

"The scribe's master has served us well."

The Clerk licked his lips, hesitating. Rule one of being a clerk was not to contradict the Chancellor. Well, actually turning up on time was the first rule which was drilled into them as apprentices in the clerk's room, but not contradicting was definitely in the top ten.

The Chancellor turned around and narrowed his eyes. "What is it?"

The clerk took a deep breath, hoping his hesitation would be taken as nothing more than his inability to run half way around this labyrinth of a castle without his lungs wanting to explode. It was no good though, he had to tell him. As his father said, before sending him off for his first day in the clerking room, there was no keeping secrets from the Chancellor. "Work hard, and do exactly what you're told," his father had told him, as he brushed down his brand new livery with a horse-hair brush. "Never question the Chancellor. No matter what bright idea you come up with lad, the Chancellor would have thought of and dismissed already. He's got a mind as sharp as a thousand knives. You try and second-guess him and you'll end up getting cut."

The clerk had been in service five years now, and he'd managed to follow all his father's advice up until now.

"It was not the scribe's master. I've heard nothing from the red tunnels, Lord Chancellor," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on a point about two inches over the Chancellor's bald head. He could feel that cold stare inching over his face and the Clerk did his best to not tremble.

"You are not from the clerk's room."

"No, my Lord. I left the clerk's room two years ago. I was assigned to the eastern tower."

With those words, the clerk witnessed something that he could never have anticipated. The Chancellor dropped his gaze and covered his mouth with his hand, stretching the skin on his cheeks.