The morning:
At seven, as was the usual habit of the accommodation he had the privilege of having, the morning-bells rang at the corridor and the ma'am who led the house walked past and knocked on doors announcing that their rooms would be inspected at noon, whether they were present or not. Well, that is new, Wilkinson thought while pulling up his pants. After pulling the suspenders up he checked the room, and nodded in satisfaction, as there wasn't a speck of dirt anywhere, and the few personal items he had were in a wall-bolted lock-chest. Humming a fjorlandian chanting tune he shaved his beard and brushed his teeth with the newfangled toothbrush his previous captain was so strict about. After becoming satisfied with his outlook he pulled his coat and weapon-belt on, pulled the outfit straight and headed out.
At the corridor he met the ma'am, who greeted him with a genuine smile. "Mr. Wilkinson, where are you headed today? I thought you were helping with the roof?"
"Miss Farlene, I am terribly sorry", Wilkinson said bowing apologetically, "but I was told there would be a job for me available at the Academy barracks, and the gentleman telling me to go there was terribly authoritative."
Miss Farlene sighed deep before answering: "You just survived your previous captain, and just when I thought I'd have a reliable resident you have to go seeking trouble again? Well, at least you'll be staying in town for a while longer. Do take care, and remember, no rummaging in the corridors after ten."
"Yes, ma'am. Have a pleasant day, and I will try to find time to fix the roof at earliest possible opportunity."
"That is all I ask."
Academy barracks weren't that hard to find, Mill had noticed yesterday evening when he had scouted the location. A simple turn to right, a shortcut from in-between of the residential block and along a artisan street until the gates emerged. He was at the gate, where a soldier of sorts seemed to keep guard. "Oi, I need to sign in on this action here."
"And who the hell do you think you are?"
Wilkinson grinned. "I am a guy who was told by the commander of the Anvalan defense to be at the barracks at o-eighthundred and get my gear."
For a moment the rifleman looked puzzled, then yelled some commands to the inside, from where a slight-build soldier came jogging. "Rico, take this guy and throw him to the command. He wants to sign up."
"Yes, corporal. If you will, sir?" the man pointed towards Mill's pistol, which was freely given, alongside a boot-knife and brass knuckles. "Naturally, we wouldn't want the paper-pushers getting all huffed up over nothing, now would we?" he smiled amusedly.
