The Grey Tower

Sweat beaded on Caedal's brow almost faster than he could wipe it away with his sleeve. He had never in his life pranked anyone and it was proving to be more stressful than he had been led to believe. The hushed chuckles and hidden smirks from his fellow soldiers following a particulary impressive prank seemed far removed from his current predicament.

Were they get caught? Have I been set up? Am I early? The thoughts ran roughshod through Caedal's mind as he fought the urge to bolt. An elderly servant passed by and Caedal's heart shot up into his throat as his hands reflexively sought out the package secreted in his breast pocket in fear. The servant seemed not to notice his behavior, continuing past Caedal as if he were just one of the Grey Tower's furnishings.

Caedal let out a breath he had not intended to hold as the servant rounded a corner. Being in the Dedicated quarters was not against the rules for a soldier, but Caedal doubted he could concoct a suitable explanation for his presence if questioned by a curious Dedicated—or, Light forbid, an Asha'man. I will wait five more minutes and then I will leave, he thought, knowing that it was not true. He had been waiting for an opportunity to improve relations between himself and his fellow initiates at the Tower for weeks and involving himself in this escapade was the first that had presented itself.

Pranks were a tradition at the Grey Tower; an outlet for initiates to escape the pressures of the Tower in—usually—less destructive ways. Caedal had heard as much from soldiers, novices, and drin throughout his stay at the Tower. But that didn't make him any less apprehensive about the whole thing. Punishment was still a very real possibility if they were caught, and Caedal did not relish the thought of explaining the situation to the Master of Soldiers.

The thought of punishment brought the panic once more to the forefront of Caedal's mind and he silenced it by once again running through today's plan as if it were just another lesson. First, obtain an oilfish from the Hama Valon markets. Caedal patted the package in his coat, grateful that he had also been able to find a sack that wouldn't let the fish's oil leak out and stain his coat. Second, bring the oilfish to Dedicated Nathaniel Carridus' quarters. This part of the plan worried Caedal the most because it had been up to another member of this little conspiracy to learn exactly where those quarters were. Finally... do something amusing. Another questionable aspect of the plan, for none of the hopeful pranksters had been able to agree on what to with the oilfish once they had it in hand. Eventually they had agreed to decide once they were in Nathaniel's chambers where, hopefully, opportunity would present itself.

Lost in thought Caedal didn't even notice the approach of another.

Running, running, always running; running from the stallholder from whom he had just stolen, running from the tavern owner who had suddenly realised that he was employing someone who had dipped into the coin to add to his pitiful wages, running from the noble whose purse he had just cut… That had been life before coming to the Grey Tower, and, whilst Johan didn’t think that he would ever miss it, he found himself chafing under the sudden monotonous routine that was now his day to day life. It was strange to wake up at the same time each day, to go through the same chores, the same lessons, the same meals, and have nothing change. It was even stranger to say that he actually missed the chase, the sheer adrenaline that came with not knowing what would happen next, but he did. He was still finding it hard to adjust to having a structured life.

When he had caught wind of the prank, he had jumped the chance. No doubt it would end up with him having to face even more chores if they were caught, but it was something different. It was a different that didn’t add to, but instead took away from his ever increasing urge to flee. He still wasn’t able to shake the feeling that the calmness that was currently his life meant that something bad was coming; that it was simply the calm before a storm. It was better to disrupt it yourself in a way that you could control.

Things were currently too good.

Right now, he was struggling to keep his breathing even as he made his way through the Dedicated quarters. This was a part of the Tower he had never been. He hadn’t been anywhere where the channelers lived. They were places he had, until now, avoided. There was just something about surrounding yourself with people that could literally set you on fire or hurl great boulders at you that left him nervous. There was no way that you could hope to fight that with a weapon made of steel. He’d never even get the chance to lift it before he dropped dead. It made him always wonder why channelers therefore needed Warders, but that was a thought for another day.

The adrenaline was surging through his veins as he carefully placed one foot in front of the other, walking in a way that made very little noise. Most people walked noisily, uncaring of just what a racket they were making, but Johan had learnt that if you walked just so, you could keep your presence from being detected. It had proved vital in the Rahad, and it was proving rather useful now.

He kept to the edges of the hallways, walking also as if he belonged here. That was another thing he had learnt: if you were wide-eyed and staring, if you let yourself gaze about and look as if you weren’t supposed to be there, it was likelier that you would get caught. He couldn’t do anything about his grey Drin uniform, which he had already come to hate, but he could certainly pretend that he was on some errand if he did happen to walk into someone. He’d even brought a book to add weight to his story, though he couldn’t even decipher what the title said.

He saw one of his fellow initiates ahead of him, looking as if he hadn’t even noticed his approach. Johan knew that he probably shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help it. It would probably be the only chance he ever got to surprise a channeler.

He cleared his throat, put as much authority in it as he could, making sure that his accent wasn’t his common Rahad tone, and barked, “What do you think you’re doing here, Soldier? And what is that in your hand?”

The building was otherwise quiet, of course, most of the Dedicated out about doing their own chores and lessons.

Only many years of tutoring in poise and protocol kept Caedal from literally jumping at the words. As it was, his physical reaction was limited to a slight stiffening of his posture—on the inside, however, his mind was pure chaos. His eyes cast about wildly looking for an escape route or an explanation even as his body twisted and bent itself into a deferential bow and words of apology began worming their way out of his mouth. For almost a full minute words of apology and contrition verging on groveling spilled forth from Caedal before he deigned to glance up at the figure he was addressing, at which point his mouth grew dry.

The young man—a Drin, going by his grey uniform—stood leaning against a nearby wall, face screwed up in mirth and a hand held to his mouth as if to hold in his laughter. "Johan!" Caedal exclaimed, suddenly placing a name to the Drin's face, "I don't know how things work in Altara, but in Cairhien allies don't treat one another this way!" Truthfully, Caedal didn't know how allies were treated back in Cairhien, having had few opportunities to have them, but he wanted to be firm here. "If a Dedicated—or, Light forbid, an Asha'man—had wandered past we could have been undone before we even got the chance to carry out the..." Caedal's voice lowered to a bare whisper, "...the prank!"

Johan nodded at Caedal's exclamations, but in the Drin's eyes, he could still detect the hint of a smile. Caedal sighed before continuing, "Never mind all of that, do you know what is holding up the rest of our cohorts? They should be here by now!" Caedal's anxiety began to spike and his hand once again brushed against the secreted oilfish, "Perhaps we should just call the whole thing off?" he muttered.

Johan just smirked. He didn’t have much of a reaction beyond that. His heart was still beating fast, the adrenaline racing through his veins, making him feel almost light-headed, but he didn’t want to show just how much he was enjoying himself, and how much glee he’d felt at catching the Soldier out.

This racing of the heart, it was how he’d always felt moments before he’d moved in to cut someone’s purse or slip something up his sleeve. It was that feeling of knowing that you were walking on a cliff’s edge and that you could fall at any moment and plummet to your death; that you were the only thing keeping yourself from falling. There was nothing quite like the feeling. Why hadn’t he thought of doing a prank before?

He took a step forward, the book still clutched in his hands. He held it like he always saw the Novices and Accepted hurrying about do: pressing it to his chest. The excuse was still there if a Dedicated or Asha’man came by: he was just here delivering a book, and he didn’t know who this Soldier was. Oilfish? Never heard of it. Although the truth was he doubted he would let the Soldier – Caedal? – take all the blame.

“You’re lucky I wasn’t a Dedicated,” he said. “You really do need to keep a closer watch on your surroundings. Maybe,” and this time he did grin, teasing, “the others have been, but you missed them.” He glanced around him, down the hall, and shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t know what’s holding them up. The place was deserted when I came through. Perhaps it’s just us. But we’re here now. We can’t call it off.”

The knuckles on Velvaen’s hand were white on the handle of the bucket. It was smooth with long-time use, but even if it’d been as splintery as a newly-cut piece of firewood, she doubted she could’ve loosened her grip. My first prank! She hadn’t felt this giddy since she’d first touched Saidar. Glancing down at her load, she noticed the water within was a slushy, off-white hue, and not from washing floors like the mop—clutched in her other hand—would suggest. A sizable chunk of kaolin clay—the finest-grained, most-expensive, infuriatingly intrusive clay she knew—was carefully wrapped and tucked into the washwater. If it was leaking a little, all the better. Easier to hide, and wetter clay just meant a bigger mess. A bigger prank, she corrected herself as she hurried as fast as she dared through the Dedicated Quarters.

Keeping one eye out for oncoming Dedicated, or Light help her, an Asha’man, she turned a corner and spotted her compatriots. Caedal, posture stiff as usual, had a hand to his coat, grazing a slight lump. Tremalking’s waters didn’t have oilfish, but the name foreshadowed a prank of epic stature. Johan stood next to him, a book pressed against his chest in a way that was both casual and tentative. His own decoy, perhaps? Their heads were lowered in hushed conversation as she joined them.
“Alright boys, I’ve got my contribution right here,” she said briskly, tucking her mop under her arm and pulling the corner of the wrapped clay up for them to see. “Are we going to do this, or what?”

Kaira strolled along the hallway. Not too quickly, yet not too slow. Her brown hair had been neatly braided down her back and secured with a white ribbon. Her arms swung casually by her side. She was the faultless picture of a tidy, well-groomed novice who was certainly not up to no good. Especially not in the Dedicated quarters. Light, why wouldn't a novice be found here? It was a perfectly natural place to be.

There was no sign of nerves in her behavior; no twitch of her lips threatening to break into a giggle, no tremor of her hands betraying any anxiety. Her eyes remained focused on the hall straight ahead. After all, what was the worst that could happen if she were stopped and questioned? She wasn't doing anything wrong!

The halls were surprisingly empty. Soon she found the small gathering of learning ranks. It seemed like everyone had made it without trouble. Kaira smiled brightly and patted the bulging pouch that hung from her belt.

"Two packets of powdered sprinklewort," she said. "One for the Dedicated and another for the Accepted. Why not, right? I'm sure we can pull it off."

Caedal sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a vain attempt to reassure himself. Reassured or not, however, Caedal was committed and he forced himself to smile now that the group was all gathered. "I suppose we had best be off now," he said as serenely as he could manage.

Those gathered around nodded and murmured words of approval so Caedal had no choice but to take steps down the hall, outwardly calm but inwardly panicked. The Dedicated quarters were quite expansive and they were still far from their destination, meaning there could be any number of perils along the path. We must stand out terribly, Caedal thought and for the first time the absurdity of the whole situation hit him in full and he barely suppressed chuckling aloud. No need to blow our cover so soon, there will be plenty of time for that later. The dread that had filled Caedal seemed to slip away bit by bit as the group continued on as Caedal gave less thought to what could lay in the future and more on the present.

Eventually, the wide passageway that the group had been following intersected with another and Caedal stopped to take a long look down both and found them both to be empty. "Which way next?" he asked the group, not having a clue himself where Nathaniel's quarters were located.