It was nearly nightfall when Cadryn, and Silence, returned to the Neeft(Gita having left them around noon to fly back on her own). The sight that greeted them, surprised each equally: an Imperial carriage bearing the Engineering Corp Insignia, and a supply train parked in the courtyard. Even stranger, was whom they had come to see: Rof, the sleeping/drinking member of the Night Shift.

Entering the courtyard, Cadryn got his first actual look at the man; Rof’s skin was the same molten brass of the setting sun on the stonework, gained form a lifetime of working under its unforgiving rays. Lighter patches of scar tissue crisscrossed his skin and bald pate. A braided beard of fiery hair, heavy with beads, hung from his jutting jaw. Unit tattoos covered his massive arms down the wrist, and it was only then that Cadryn noticed the missing right hand.

One of the three Imperial Engineers, their apparent leader, was talking at Rof, and Cadryn knew a dressing-down when he heard one.

“You are, by far, the worst Tower Engineer I’ve ever met, Pasko, if you really are him.” The senior man was saying.

“It’s a wonder he lived long enough to get this post.” Added his lackey.

“Well, he didn’t make it intact,” concluded the third.

They laughed, Rof merely stared passed them, at the supplies. Looking at the two carts, Cadryn could follow the line of his thoughts.

“This is all you brought?” Rof said, the words apparently the first he’d spoken to the men since their arrival.

“All? Is this all?” the leader said incredulously.

“The balls on this half-handed cripple,” his lackey said.

“Bigger than your father’s, whelp,” Rof replied, “would you like to see?”

The third man raised his hand, but seeing something in Rof’s gaze halted him, or maybe he’d just noticed the odds had changed with Cadryn and Silence’s arrival. He nudged the senior and pointed at them.

“Oh, so there are more than two people here,” the Leader said, “I was beginning to doubt it when that anxious little toad told us to talk to the Engineer about the repairs.”

“That’s because Atwood believes that every Imperial Citizen should perform the task their best able to do.” Sil said.

The Engineers laughed, and the lackey pointed to Rof’s stump. “And this bastard’s to fix the Tower? Comedic.”

“Tragic,” Rof corrected, “that Sefton’s confident I will do a better job of it, than you three empty-headed assholes.”

The leader looked around the assembled faces, settled on Cadryn’s. “What about you, lad? You think we should let some paper-pusher tell real Army what to do?”

Cadryn heard the words, and tasted acid. These men were clearer examples of what they claimed to hold in contempt, than the man they derided. By rank, the Senior was in the right, and could do what he wanted with the supplies, he could leave them for Rof, as Sefton clearly desired, or squander them on some unneeded, but doubtlessly time consuming ‘repairs’. Cadryn cleared his throat.

“The only ‘real army’ I see, are on this side of the Courtyard . . . why don’t you tossers leave? Or would you like me to give you some scars like our engineer has?”

The men paled, despite the glare of the sunset, and spitting on the stones, retreated to their Carriage, abandoning the supplies.

Rof watched them go before he addressed his fellow Guardsman. “You didn’t have to do that, lad.” He said in a low voice.

“Yeah, I did.” Cadryn replied, and squeezing the man’s shoulder like and old friend, headed for the door to the toll house.

When they were alone, Rof spoke again, his voice uncharacteristically happy. “You’ve got him walking in step pretty fast, Silence, I shouldn’t be impressed, but I am.”

“It was easy,” she replied, slapping him on the back. “He’s a good person.”

Watching this unfold from his office, Sefton Atwood smiled. A new Keeper of the Neeft had been made, even if Cadryn did not fully realize it yet.