Kay

 

Kay blinked his eyes slowly, the world a bleary mess, as he tried to come to terms with being woken. He was so tired, he just wanted to sleep. But the problems of the world have a way of coming to find you, rudely awakening you with their incessant nagging.

 

He had been dreaming of the battle of Saltford again. It seemed like a nightmare even then while arrows and fire and steel rained around him, a terrible dream of blood and grief, but he had the pain in his leg to remind him that it had been real. He felt weak and light-headed and for a moment swore that he could still smell the burning of the homes that Anton Darrow had ordered, trying to drive Arthur's men from their respite.

 

A hand touched his shoulder. He blinked again, and focused.

 

"Are you okay?" It was a familiar voice, and one he recognized, but try as he might he couldn't place it.

 

"I'm fine," he said, as he sat up, leaning against the wall of his tent. He looked around, at the familiar sights of his room. The bed was situated in the center of an airy room, the walls made of the same white plaster and the floor covered in the same dark wood as the rest of the room. There was a long, beautiful dresser as well, made of the same dark wood, and a mirror hanging on the far wall.

 

"You don't look fine," the voice said again. He reached down to the side of the cot and picked up the cup of water that was always there, and drank from it. He felt his strength return as the cool, fresh water spilled down his throat. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was.

 

"Didn't get much sleep," he said, and he looked down at the man seated next to him only to realize it was not a man at all. It was a thoughtful looking boy of perhaps ten, pleasant looking if a bit rough around the edges. He was dressed in a simple tunic and pants, that frankly needed a wash, but similar to the clothes Kay had on.

 

Alexander, he realized. The new page that had been assigned to him.

 

"Are you sure you're okay?" The boy asked again. Kay looked at him, and smiled at the concern on his face.

 

"I'm fine," he said, and he nodded.

 

"Alright then," Alexander said, and he stood up, "but if you need anything, I'm right outside."

 

"Thanks," Kay said, and Alexander nodded and exited the room, ducking outside. Kay heard the faint sound of voices, but they faded as the boy moved down the corridor.

 

He sat there for a while, then he picked up the shirt he had worn the day before and pulled it over his head. He threw back the covers, and put his feet on the ground. The wood was smooth, cool, and he didn't quickly pull them away.

 

He remembered the battle of Saltford. He remembered the fighting, the dying, the smell of burning and the sound of steel, the sound of death. It all came back to him and he squeezed his eyes closed.

 

He stood, and walked slowly to the mirror on the wall, leaning on the dresser to support himself. He looked at himself and smiled, though there was little to smile about. With a sigh, he made his way around the room, checking that everything was where he had left it.

 

There were two small books on the dresser, a volume of poetry and a book of ledgers for the keep. Kay discovered that poetry could be illuminating, but with his duties running the castle, he just didn't have the time he wished for. He decided he would make time soon.

 

He had the second book of ledgers, and he flipped through the pages. The ledgers were the size of a small book, filled with numbered squares and columns of small, neat handwriting. The entries were in Lander's hand, and he had recorded everything from the granaries to the swine, with the numbers and totals at the bottom of each column. They were balanced, every month, right down to the last copper.

 

He was about to put the book down when he noticed a change. As he flipped through the pages, the numbers became smaller and smaller. Lander's neat writing became more hesitant, and the numbers were no longer balanced.

 

He flipped back a page, then forward, and he saw that the two were not in sync. His eyes darted over the pages, and he realized that the numbers on the current page matched the numbers on the previous page. Back again to where the ledgers did not match pages. Back further, and neither did the numbers.

 

Kay's heart started to race. He flipped back over a whole year's worth of ledgers, and they were all the same. The numbers matched.

 

And then he realized something. The book was missing a page.

 

He checked the book again, just to make sure, and then he looked back at the page where the page had been removed.

 

He flipped back a few pages, back to where the numbers and the handwriting changed.

 

Kay sat back in his chair. Whoever this was, he was good.

 

He flipped the book back and forth, reading the handwriting of the previous and then the current page. The handwriting was different, there was no doubt about it, but the problem was that it was far too difficult to say who it was.

 

He closed the book and stared at it for a moment. He was going to have to look at the handwriting more closely, but he didn't like the idea of someone coming in and seeing him examining it. If anyone saw him, who knew what conclusions they might come to.

 

Kay heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, and they were heavy and slow. They were muffled still, but growing louder. He was certain they were coming down the corridor toward his chambers.

 

He heard muffled voices and one that might have been Lander. Another might have been Alexander. The muffled footsteps retreated.

 

He stood, and he walked over to the door. He listened carefully, but he heard nothing. He thought about leaving the book there, to be discovered later, and he thought it might be the best way to find out who it was.

 

But he didn't like the thought of someone coming in. He looked back at the book.

 

He reached down, slid the ledger out of sight under the cot, and he walked out of the room.