Elbow deep in lye soap and lukewarm water was not where Trayce had pictured himself when he enlisted, yet there he was. After reporting to Major Hwrathorn’s office, he had wandered the grounds for ten minutes trying to find who he was supposed to report to. The major’s office wasn’t a single building but a collection of smaller buildings connected by paths and walkways, closer to a compound than an office. Once he finally found someone to report to, it wasn’t Major Hwrathorn but one of his subordinate officers, a man who introduced himself as Lieutenant Mung. He had directed Trayce to a canopy tent that housed a wooden washtub and cart of laundry, leading to where he now sat scrubbing.

  Sweat dripped from his forehead and into his eyes as he scrubbed for the following hours. Why the major thought it prudent to make a man who had scarcely any laundering experience responsible for cleaning the heap of clothing, including expensive dress coats, was beyond him. He hung the shirt he had been working on to dry and looked at the state of things. His uniform coat hung over a post where he shed it to keep it dry, a good choice because his undershirt had since been soaked in lye, dirty water, and sweat. After all his effort in cleaning, the cart was still nearly halfway full of clothes. The sun hung lazily in the sky, dipping toward the horizon. Trayce would have to pick up the pace. He put another pot of water on the fire to warm and prepared to do more laundry.

  Flickering Torchlight reflected on the washwater as Trayce finished washing the last piece of clothing. All around him, laundry hung on the line, blowing in the nighttime breeze; whatever smells might be carried on it were drowned out by the scent of lye that clung to his nose. He could see now why this was a punishment. He wheeled the now-empty cart toward the building, where Lieutenant Mung indicated he was to store it at the end of the day. After opening the double doors, he pushed the cart inside, only to find another identical cart there already, filled to the top with clothes. That was tomorrow’s problem.

  Collecting his coat, Trayce left the compound. The wind blew across his wet undershirt, making him shiver as he passed through the gate. Being stuck late finishing the laundry set him well behind where he would like to be. He had an hour to himself before he had to be on watch tonight. He beelined it to the mess hall first, since his last meal was that morning.

  The mess hall was a long building sitting in the middle of the barracks. Inside was a large kitchen for meal time, and a communal stew pot simmered at the hearth, alongside a stack of wooden bowls for serving. Long tables took up the rest of the room, with benches to sit on. Because of the hour, dinner was over at this point, and the only soldiers left were clumped in far corners of the room playing cards and talking softly amongst themselves. No one turned to look at Trayce as he walked to the pot and ladled stew into one of the bowls, grabbing one of the few pieces of dry bread left sitting out. Sitting at the end of the empty bench, he began to eat. The stew was a thin broth with chunks of unidentifiable meat, carrots, and potatoes, and he devoured it. He put the bowl to his mouth and slurped the broth down, before using the bread to spoon out the rest and soak up any remaining liquid.

  The room had grown quiet outside of the shuffle of cards as Trayce put down his bowl. When he looked toward the men playing cards in the corner, he was met with quick glances before they began muttering intently with each other. Trayce considered waving, but before he could, one man stood up and began walking toward him. It was an older soldier with greying temples to match the grey hairs in his beard, though for what looked like a seasoned soldier, he was only wearing a private’s uniform. The man now stood before Trayce and reached out a hand to shake.

  “The name’s Len,” the man said.

  “Trayce.”

  “You’re the one who got in a scuffle with some Stripes, aren’t you?” Len said with a smile.

  Trayce recoiled at the question. When he studied Len’s face, though, he saw no sign of maliciousness.

  “What if I was?” Trayce asked.

  “Well, if you were, then I might have to buy you a drink. I heard one of those Stripes pissed themselves when Major Hwrathorn showed up, now isn’t that something!” Len said, ending it with a laugh.

  “I wouldn’t say it was all that. They were threatening me, I barely even had time to defend myself before Major Hwrathorn showed up. And now I have to pay the price.”

  “The price?” Len asked.

  “Punishment for ‘disrespecting a superior officer.’ I’ve been put on the night watch and made to do the major’s laundry. I just came from the major’s compound,” Trayce replied.

  “Ha! Don’t they know your hands are too calloused for a woman’s job?” Len said.

  “I’d think washwomen would have nearly as thick skin as us after what the day of scrubbing in lye did to my hands,” Trayce said.

  “Whatever you say, boy. How about I buy you that drink tonight after my friends over there, and I finish our card game?”

  “I’ll have to take you up on your offer another time. I have to be on watch in an hour.”

  “Shame. There are some people I know would have been very interested to speak with you tonight,” Len said, before turning and leaving without waiting for Trayce’s reply.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  After that slightly off exchange, Trayce put his bowl aside and left the mess hall. Stopping at the barracks first to pick up his things, he made his way to his watchpost, ready for a long night.

  Trayce’s uniform sat in the same place he had left it the night before, crumpled on his chair. Hastily and haphazardly getting dressed, he slogged through his morning routine. After taking a trip to the latrine, his next task was to wash his hands and face. As he looked in the mirror and washed his face, he briefly considered shaving the stubble around his jaw, but in the end, it was too much effort, and he made his way to the mess hall. Breakfast was yesterday’s bread toasted to bring back some life and a bowl of thick pottage. Far from Trayce’s favorite meal, it still sated his hunger and helped him wake up. The bustling mess hall was filled with soldiers talking over one another, but through the hubbub, he could hear stray bits of conversation, amongst which were the words “Stripes,” “private,” and “archery range.” Trayce hurriedly left the mess hall after that and went to Major Hwrathorn’s compound.

  Despite his weariness, Trayce had a much easier time getting started on the laundry that morning. Starting by putting water over the fire to heat, he then went to the shed and rolled out the cart. It had been filled more since the prior afternoon, but it was thankfully less than the last load. He tossed his uniform jacket onto the clothesline post and got to work. Within an hour, he had made significant progress.

  As Trayce was scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain right on top of the brass buttons on an embroidered dress coat, he saw Lieutenant Mung poke his head around the corner of a building, before disappearing back behind it. After a few minutes, Lieutenant Mung reappeared, this time following a well-built man with greying temples—Major Hwrathorn—and they were walking in his direction. Damn. Trayce looked back down quickly and tried to appear as if he was working and hadn’t noticed them—no need to seem like he was snooping. Continuing to scrub away, he saw out of the corner of his eye that the major continued to approach. He didn’t walk past Trayce and his washbasin. Waving Lieutenant Ming away, Major Hwrathorn stopped on the edge of the laundry area and observed the work. Realizing the major wasn’t passing, Trayce scrambled to stand up and salute the major. Within a few seconds, he stood there in his damp undershirt with water dripping from his hands, saluting.

  “At ease, Private,” Major Hwrathorn said. “For a man doing laundry, you look particularly un-laundered.”

  “I apologize, sir. Laundry is a messier business than I realized,” Trayce replied.

  “Where’s the rest of your uniform? All I see here is a soaked undershirt.”

  “My jacket is on the post holding up the clothesline, sir.

  Major Hwrathorn looked over the jacket. “It’s crumpled,” he said.

  “I know, I didn’t have time to neaten it up between being here until sunset yesterday and then spending the night on watch,” Trayce said.

  “Ah, so that’s what they decided on. It still doesn’t sit right with me to punish you for being attacked.”

  Trayce raised an eyebrow at that. Weren’t you the one who had me end up here?, he wanted to say, but held his tongue.

  “Though I can’t say I’m surprised. I’ve heard quite a bit about the stir you caused, the soldiers won’t stop talking about,” Major Hwrathorn said.

  “I know, sir, I’ve been surprised by what I’ve overheard my fellows saying,” Trayce said.

  “Oh yes, some of the rumors going around are quite overblown. I believe I heard one man vehemently telling his company how he saw it all, particularly emphasizing you raising your bow and trying to shoot one of the stripes, but missed instead shooting the earring off of his ear.”

  “I didn’t realize how far it had gone,” Trayce said as he rubbed his wrists. “You saw it, you know that’s total horse shi—” Trayce caught himself. “Total horse manure, sir.”

  “Of course I know, because if that happened, I trust you wouldn’t have missed,” Major Hwrathorn said.

  Trayce was taken aback. “Uh, sir, I would never shoot a superior officer.”

  “Well, yes, I’m sure, but I’ve seen you shoot. You don’t miss.”

  “What? You’ve seen me shoot?” Trayce asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I have,” Major Hwrathorn said. “You’ve piqued my interest as of late.”

  “I, uh—“ Trayce wanted to reply, but the words came with difficulty. “Thank you, I think, sir?”

  Major Hwrathorn nodded before pointing to the jacket lying over the lip of the washtub, half submerged in soapy water.

  “You missed a spot,” Major Hwrathron said. “You better not ruin any of my uniforms. They’re quite costly, you know. That jacket is worth more than a year’s salary for soldiers like you, and I am quite fond of it, so if you ruin it, I swear I’ll have you court-martialled.”

  At the major’s comment, Trayce just nodded, unsure of the proper response.

  “From today forward, Private, once it reaches the dinner hour, finish whatever you have left in your tub and leave. I’d rather not have my soldier passing out from malnutrition and drowning in my own washtub,” Major Hwrathorn said.

  “Yes, sir,” Trayce replied.

  “Good, now get back to work, Ja’Deslinn,” Major Hwrathorn said, before turning and walking back to the cluster of buildings.

  Trayce scratched his head and resumed work. He wasn’t sure he liked that the major had been watching him, and remembered his name.