She shrugged. “All I care about is that right now that little piece of paper can make us if we can redeem it.”
The Guildsman scrutinized the writing carefully, then suddenly, unexpectedly, smiled. “It specifies that the holder of the note is the one who has to redeem it in person,” he pointed out. “If you signed it over to us, in return for an immediate sum minus—oh—ten percent, our representative would be the holder.”
He’ll never forgive me. “Done,” she said, reaching for Scratcher’s pen. “Send it half in supplies and weapons. The Guild I trust.”
The rest was over quickly, leaving Kero alone in the wardroom, her hand clenched around the letter still in her otherwise empty pouch. Slowly, she drew it out.
She stared at it for a long moment, her mind tired and blank. Then, she folded it and tore it into precise halves, then quarters, then repeated herself until there was no piece larger than the nail of her little finger.
She stared at the pile of pieces, stirring them a little with her forefinger. A noise from outside made her look up and through the window that gave out on the practice grounds.
Shallan was running a new recruit against the archery-target, at the trot. He jounced painfully and his arrows went everywhere except in the straw dummy. Her own buttocks ached in sympathy.
She looked down at the collection of tiny white scraps, then abruptly swept them into her hand and cast them into the fire.
She stood up, and strode to the door. Her orderly was waiting for her with her cape in his hands, as if her thoughts had summoned him. She paused just long enough for him to flick it over her back and settle it across her shoulders, before striding out onto the practice grounds.
Her practice grounds. Her recruits.
Her mouth opened, and the words came without her even having to think about them, as Shallan saw her and snapped to attention, the recruits following her raggedly.
“So, these are the new ones.” She nodded, as she remembered Lerryn doing. “Very promising, Sergeant. Carry on.”