All Sorts of Monsters
((This jumps back in time a bit, to fill in some story.))
She crept down the corridor again, night after night, it seemed. The damp earth beneath her feet; the rough stone wall at her side, rasping at her fingers; the sickly-sweet rotted-fruit stench in her nose. The hair on the back of her neck on end, her spine tingling. He was there, waiting… no, not “he”… not any more. “They” had taken over, extinguishing the consciousness that was Ose, the man, the Sterling. Behind her they came, closer, scuttling. The urgent need to run, to escape propelled her down the black passageway. She had to save them, warn them, protect them. They depended on her, trusted her.
Each night the nightmares came. Since he had told her of the parasites inside him, she had slept little, eaten less. Between the long, hot days in Durotar, and the sleepless nights, her nerves were stretched tight. No one was safe from her sharp tongue and criticisms, not even the very people she wanted to protect.
“Truitt!” She bellowed, irritable from lack of sleep. It was early and she wanted to look over the market reports before heading to the docks. Opening her mouth to yell again, she looked up. Her Exchequer was there in the doorway, fully dressed, even though it was before sunrise. In his hand, the market report she wanted. On his young face, a look of apology. Bjorke looked at him, as if for the first time. Had she really treated him so badly? Was this what she was? A monster? No better than Ose’s parasites?
“Here it is, Boss. Sorry you had to wait.”
“Truitt…” The softness in her voice drew his eyes up from his shoes, and he looked at her. “Truitt, I didn’t mean to yell. I… I’m sorry,” she said, stumbling over the unfamiliar words. “These reports have been invaluable. Really.” She smiled, not a warm, comforting smile, but rather like a teacher, pleased with a child’s work.
“Thank you.” Truitt beamed at her.
“Oh, and this report?” She held up the expense sheet. “These figures are wrong.” She pulled out a quill, scratching out numbers and re-writing them. She handed it to him, not noticing his crest-fallen face. “This salary figure…” she pointed to his name on the parchment. “This should be higher. I’ve adjusted it.” She smiled again at him, obviously pleased with her solution to this problem. “Now, I’ve got to head out. Take care of things, will you?”
At the dock, waiting for the boat, she headed over to the mailbox. She found a letter from Ose waiting for her. His elegant script cryptically spelled out his plan, such as it was. The time grows near, I feel it. Supplies have been arranged, and the Thandol Span will hold us. Frowning, she wondered what she had gotten herself, and her Order, into.
