Closely Enough

I serve as a clerk in Sigma Tower, which mostly means I write down what other people carry uphill and downhill. The tower sits where the road narrows and the wind never quite stops. We are told the pass matters even when nothing is moving through it, so we stay.

My desk is set against an inner wall, away from the firing slits. The stone sweats when the weather turns, and paper curls if you do not weigh it down. Most days begin with checking the posting slate, because the slate is changed more often than the pass itself.

That morning, two names had shifted watches. West rampart to south stair, both still within the tower. It was done quietly, likely to spare knees or tempers. I copied the change into the ledger and made a note to adjust the issued cold gear. I did not do it right away.

Captain Relm reviewed inspection slips after mid bell. He paused at Third Watch and asked why there was an extra lined cloak listed. I told him about the posting change. He nodded, not satisfied but finished with it, and told me to correct the count before nightfall.

Outside, training went on as usual. Short spears, close order, no shouting beyond the count. Sound carries too far in the pass. Veterans know this without being told.

I went down to stores for replacement boot straps. The quarter sergeant asked if the posting change was permanent. I said permanent enough. She issued the straps and marked them general.

On the way back, I passed by Guard inspection. One guardsman was told his gloves were too worn for outer watch. He accepted it without comment.

Back at the desk, I crossed out the extra cloak and rewrote the line. The ink froze slightly and left a pale track. It would darken later.

Near end of day, a message came from the south stair asking to keep the old meal rotation. The cook had already adjusted his counts. The duty officer approved it without discussion. I wrote it down and filed it.

Before lights, I checked the ledger again. Everything balanced closely enough.

As I left, Captain Relm was standing by the slate, watching a name being rewritten straighter. He nodded once. I returned it. The pass was quiet. That was the point.