Post by Cam Pyetr on Aug 18, 2024 21:27:24 GMT -5
[for Sigyn ]
Cam Pyetr, former Director of the Beldam Containment and Rehabilitation Facility for Witches and current Royal Advisor to the Governor of Cambria, had stepped in some kind of crap on his way to the would-be assassin's holding cell. He could smell it, but he didn't dare stop to scrape it off, not while walking through this Nevermerean military camp for the first time. What kind of impression would that leave? Of course, the fact that he'd stepped in it was giving him an impression of its own. The camp should have been kept in pristine condition, the pathways between tents swept and flattened, animals kept far enough away from the business tents that their noises and smells weren't infringing on human occupation. A visiting lord shouldn't have had to watch his step walking through the camp, yet here Cam was, wondering if it would have been less embarrassing to keep his eyes on the ground than to now be smelling of feces.
Not that his boots were the only source of stink. The military man who was acting as guide--Cam hadn't caught his position, but it wasn't General, which was an insult in itself--was rank enough to put the cows to shame. His shirt was untucked on one side, and he waved a hand casually as he took Cam on the long route.
"That's the mess hall. Those are more barracks. Officers' tent is over there." He belched at the end of that sentence.
Cam tried to force down the anxiety that wanted to churn in his stomach. This camp was a disaster. Surely it was not representative of Nevermerean outposts here in Cambria. Cam was entirely dependent on the competence of the soldiers here if it came to a rebellion. As useful as Edith was, walking a few yards behind him as his ever-present silent shadow, she couldn't fight off an entire Cambrian army, and he had only recently learned about the horrors of the Valkyrie warriors that somehow hadn't been eradicated when Cambria was occupied. This was his first line of defense?
Finally, they reached the girl's cell. She was still collared--the metal band hadn't left her neck since Regan had ordered her arrest--but Cam had still insisted on a fully locked-down jail. The four walls of the box were made of metal bars, the roof a few crude boards screwed into more metal bars that made up the ceiling. The floor was hard-packed dirt; the bars of the box dug two feet down below the surface. The square box was big enough for two men to lie head-to-toe from one end to another, the bars spaced just far enough from each other that a dainty arm could slide through to the elbow. One corner of the box had two dirty sheets hanging against the walls and a third that rustled in the breeze to form a triangle with the other two in a rough attempt at privacy or maybe shade; in that corner had been a straw pallet and a bucket.
"One guard?" Cam asked the idiot tour guide. The man scratched at his crotch and shrugged. Cam swallowed rage and turned to the bored-looking soldier who had been seated by the holding cell's gate, who was now rising to his feet languidly.
"Please announce me to your prisoner," Cam said in a clipped, unfriendly tone.
"But who are you?"
The tour guide leaned forward helpfully. "This is the new advisor to the governor. He's, uh . . . what was your name again, sir?"
"Both of you are dismissed," Cam snapped irritably. He stepped closer to the bars to look at the prisoner.
Cam Pyetr, former Director of the Beldam Containment and Rehabilitation Facility for Witches and current Royal Advisor to the Governor of Cambria, had stepped in some kind of crap on his way to the would-be assassin's holding cell. He could smell it, but he didn't dare stop to scrape it off, not while walking through this Nevermerean military camp for the first time. What kind of impression would that leave? Of course, the fact that he'd stepped in it was giving him an impression of its own. The camp should have been kept in pristine condition, the pathways between tents swept and flattened, animals kept far enough away from the business tents that their noises and smells weren't infringing on human occupation. A visiting lord shouldn't have had to watch his step walking through the camp, yet here Cam was, wondering if it would have been less embarrassing to keep his eyes on the ground than to now be smelling of feces.
Not that his boots were the only source of stink. The military man who was acting as guide--Cam hadn't caught his position, but it wasn't General, which was an insult in itself--was rank enough to put the cows to shame. His shirt was untucked on one side, and he waved a hand casually as he took Cam on the long route.
"That's the mess hall. Those are more barracks. Officers' tent is over there." He belched at the end of that sentence.
Cam tried to force down the anxiety that wanted to churn in his stomach. This camp was a disaster. Surely it was not representative of Nevermerean outposts here in Cambria. Cam was entirely dependent on the competence of the soldiers here if it came to a rebellion. As useful as Edith was, walking a few yards behind him as his ever-present silent shadow, she couldn't fight off an entire Cambrian army, and he had only recently learned about the horrors of the Valkyrie warriors that somehow hadn't been eradicated when Cambria was occupied. This was his first line of defense?
Finally, they reached the girl's cell. She was still collared--the metal band hadn't left her neck since Regan had ordered her arrest--but Cam had still insisted on a fully locked-down jail. The four walls of the box were made of metal bars, the roof a few crude boards screwed into more metal bars that made up the ceiling. The floor was hard-packed dirt; the bars of the box dug two feet down below the surface. The square box was big enough for two men to lie head-to-toe from one end to another, the bars spaced just far enough from each other that a dainty arm could slide through to the elbow. One corner of the box had two dirty sheets hanging against the walls and a third that rustled in the breeze to form a triangle with the other two in a rough attempt at privacy or maybe shade; in that corner had been a straw pallet and a bucket.
"One guard?" Cam asked the idiot tour guide. The man scratched at his crotch and shrugged. Cam swallowed rage and turned to the bored-looking soldier who had been seated by the holding cell's gate, who was now rising to his feet languidly.
"Please announce me to your prisoner," Cam said in a clipped, unfriendly tone.
"But who are you?"
The tour guide leaned forward helpfully. "This is the new advisor to the governor. He's, uh . . . what was your name again, sir?"
"Both of you are dismissed," Cam snapped irritably. He stepped closer to the bars to look at the prisoner.
