Torvan Clemens swept a hand over his brow as he slumped down onto the chair behind his desk. The desk was not a power play, as many would often imagine, but he found a certain security in sitting there, particularly after a day such as the one he had just endured. Warm sunlight spilled through the little window in the corner, gradually turning orange with the approach of evening and the time that he would be able to clock out, but as he sat there, he felt unsure that he’d be able to do it --be able to leave, that is, with a clear conscience. If he did manage to leave, he knew with grim certainty that sleep would elude him that night.
He listened to the sound of a group walking by on the street, a cluster of teens laughing out loud to something he hadn’t heard. He wondered how fast the rumors had spread. Did everyone in town know already? What were they thinking? Were they going to lose sleep tonight as much as he was?
The fact of the matter was, with the exception of fending off some three or four comparatively minor raids in the past decade, the town of Mitissilva had had little to do with the war that was going on elsewhere in the world. Sure, some folks had their opinions one way or the other, but it ultimately boiled down to the fact that they generally prefered to live and go about their lives without fear of their destruction lurking in the trees around them. They were content to hunker down and keep their heads below the treeline if it meant protecting their sense of security. It hadn’t caused them any trouble in the past.
Until now?
Clemens grimaced and drew the newest folder over to himself. He had filled it out just an hour before, and when he flipped the cover open, his own handwriting stared back at him in stark black ink against white paper. It was unusual to see such a crisp, new file. The vast majority of their offenders had already had a file for years. But this one…
He stared at the empty line where he was supposed to write the offender’s name, and that image floated in front of his eyes of the scribbled drawing on a slip of notepaper. It had been a silhouette of the mask worn by the one who drew it. What did this man --if it was a man-- have to hide, that he wouldn’t speak or at least show his face? His presence could well be the cold wind before the storm, the lone raven that precedes the plague.
Name: __________
Time of arrival: 3:00 PM.
Offense: ...Being elusive? One could argue for resisting arrest, but what had warranted the arrest in the first place? It wasn’t an arrest, Clemens reminded himself. Just a precautionary measure in a time of war. If he refuses to tell us what’s up, he can’t expect us to just let him waltz around the place. … Does being at war really justify stuff like this?
He leaned back in his chair, making the wood frame creak as he replayed both interactions in his head. The way the stranger had been standing there on the edge of town with both hands held aloft. The way he tilted that masked face of his and fanned his fingers in a wave as if greeting a child. How he almost eagerly bounced back from the bars and sat on the bench as if sitting in that holding cell had been what he wanted all along.
What if it was what he had wanted all along? Clemens shook his head with a sigh and took up a pen to add a little starred note on the comments section of the form: Doesn’t talk.The rest could wait until morning. The rest would have to wait until morning.
~*~
“So what’s your game plan then? If he’s innocent, you could get a mark on your record for holding someone with a disability for no reason.” Solstice cradled a cup of tea on her knees, her heels beating out a familiar rhythm against the cabinet she was using as achair.
“I don’t have anything against mute folks,” Clemens protested. “But he’s got that mask and he ain’t even writing anything. You’d think he could at least write.”
“What if he’s illiterate?”
“He’s gotta be able to speak somehow. You don’t just go through life without figuring out some way to communicate.”
“What if he had his tongue cut when he was older?”
Clemens heaved a sigh and dragged a hand down his face. “I dunno, Solstice. It’s just so weird. I swear he just sat right down and I swear he was smiling under that mask when he did.”
Solstice leaned her head to one side and took a sip of tea. Technically she outranked him. She could order him to take one particular action or another, but instead she suggested, “So if you don’t want him roaming the streets, why not set him down on a path out of town and say don’t come back?”
This drew another exasperated sound from the man at the desk. He sat back in his chair with a groan, then immediately leaned forward again to push a pen to the front of the desk like a child done with dinner. Then he plucked up the pen and dropped it in the little basket that held an assortment of writing implements as well as a colorful paper flower his younger sister had made for him several years ago when he first started work as a town peacekeeper.
“What if he’s a spy?”
“A spy, Clemens?”
“I mean, a scout. What if he leads the troops here and that’s the end of our bubble of peace?”
“Why would they make a spy soconspicuous? Based on what you’re saying, he’s not even trying to look like a normal traveller.”
“Could be going for…traveling performer?”
“Okay, Clemens.” She knocked back the rest of her tea and set the cup to one side. “But what if he’s an actual traveling performer? Do you know how bad that looks? There’s a line between due diligence and paranoia.”
Clemens tossed up his hands and gestured helplessly at the file with its crisp new paper and empty name line. “What do you suggest then? It’s on our heads if something goes down. You know that.” She had been working up to this the whole conversation; he knew that. She liked to play the sympathetic mentor while actually being a vice that slowly choked the air out of any other way of thinking but hers. The problem with this method was that she usually wound up being right. He knew by now to surrender to the tactic and let her have her say.
“I know.” Solstice placed her hands to either side of herself and hopped down from the cabinet, dusting off the front of her uniform and tugging her shirt straight. “I think I need to meet this person. If he doesn’t seem imminently threatening, then we’ll turn him out and keep an eye on him. Neither of us wants to be tangled up for locking up an innocent traveler.”
The man sighed and nodded out of obligation, but under his breath he grumbled, “Neither of us wants t’be tangled up for bringing the war home either.”
“Oh, quit overreacting. I’m going to go make sure all the town’s watch points are covered for today, then we’ll bring him in and chat here. Get some soup or something for him.”
“I told you, he won’t eat--”
“Soup, Clemens. If we’re going to force him to be here, let’s at least be gracious hosts.” She didn’t give room to protest --not that he would have at that point-- but turned and swept from the room, taking all of her indisputable authority with her.
In her absence, Clemens immediately sat forward and buried his face in his hands. He had joined the peacekeepers for the very reason inherent in the job’s title: to keep the peace. But since joining, he had only needed to deal with pickpockets or the occasional heated dispute. Now, he was beginning to realize how unprepared he was to do the real work of peace-keeping. Anything could happen. Anything. Any action, or even lack thereof, could mean destruction for this town. He could imagine the vicious chatter of gunfire and the dreaded boom of explosives. Red heat. Orange fire. Familiar houses and storefronts smashed in with glass and rubble strewn all over the road amongst the bodies. And the screams, and the screams, and the screams… And all because of that masked...thing sitting placidly in a cell just a few doors down from him.
He tried to relax. He drew in a deep breath as he laced his fingers together and stared down at the file. They would find out soon enough. They would have to get answers sooner or later, whether by word of mouth or heat of flame. The best that he could do now was to heed Solstice’s advice and wait and pray.
It was only a matter of time.
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