21. Rush
MINUTES TICKED BY so slowly, it seemed like I’d been in Murphy’s room for a year. Until a couple of days ago, I didn’t even know where Murphy’s bedroom was. The corporal had a bedroom on the fourth floor equipped with a personal telegraph and telephone.
Since the darn bomb had blown up the mill, our schedules had been rearranged. Nathan and I had been ordered to guard the communication facility in turns with other cadets. The darn room was now watched twenty-four hours every day by at least two people. Not even the king was so well-guarded.
Corporal Murphy believed that the bomber hadn’t contacted the other conspirators yet. Not sure why he believed that, or how he knew that more than one person was involved. But then again, why would he share his secrets with me? The in and out mail was searched. I couldn’t send my ‘happy autumn festival’ postcard to my auntie without having it checked and read by Murphy’s men. No one could leave the park unless escorted by one of his soldiers. Every phone call was monitored and spied on. Thus, the bomber’s only chance to contact the outside world was to use Murphy’s telephone that hadn’t been tapped for some classified reason. But who would come in here? Too many guards and too many people watching. The bomber would have more luck stealing the Crown Jewels. I didn’t understand why we had to keep an eye on the bloody thing while neglecting our training. Not that I missed merging with Nathan or sparring with Bruce and Michael, but I wanted to improve my skills, and this watching job was a waste of time.
In two days, no one had ever entered the room aside from Commander Allen, Miss Hammond, and Murphy himself. Thanks to Roy and his impossible behaviour, my mood was particularly foul, which didn’t make a good guard of me.
My head bobbed forward as I tried to keep my eyes open. It wasn’t late. Five past ten in the evening, but boredom wore me down. Odd. I’d been drinking coffee and black tea all day.
Sitting next to me, Nathan flipped through the pages of a newspaper, his cheek resting on his palm. “Are you all right?”
I rubbed my eyes. “Tired of staying in this room. I know every single grain of dust on the mantelpiece.”
He chuckled. “This job won’t last. As soon as they catch the culprit, we’ll be back to our normal lives.”
“I hope so.” My head spun with exhaustion. I leaned against the desk while Nathan tilted his head towards me, a brow rising. There was a pencil pointing at the phone like an arrow, reminding me that I was supposed to guard the device. I huffed, unable to keep my eyes open. What the heck—When I opened my eyes, the clock on the mantelpiece read half past ten. Blimey. I’d been knocked out for nearly half an hour. I ran a hand over my face and yawned loudly, not even caring to hide it.
“You took a nap.” Amusement laced Nathan’s words.
“Not my fault. This job is boring.” I stretched my arms over my head. “At least our shift is over for today.”
“Michael and Bruce should be here any moment.” He massaged the back of his neck. “And don’t complain. We’ve been here for a couple of hours only. Other partners have it worse than we do.”
“Yes, but there have been two hours of doing absolutely nothing.”
The pencil was on the other side, tip pointing at me. It seemed that someone had reached out for the headset and shoved the pencil away in the process. It could have been me during my nap. But from where I was sitting, if I’d stretched out my arm towards the pencil, it would have dropped from the table, not been turned around. When I gazed up, Nathan was staring at me, amber eyes darkening.
“Is something the matter?” he asked. There was an edge in his voice.
I licked my parched lips. A foul taste lingered in my mouth, as if I’d taken a medicine. I glanced at the cup of tea on the desk.
“The pencil has been moved.” My tone was low.
“And?”
“It was there, pointing at the phone. Now it’s here.” Lord, I sounded like a deranged person, but I had no idea why the pencil bothered me so much.
Nathan frowned. “You must have knocked it over. I’ve slouched on the desk too. You aren’t the only one who’s tired.”
He was right. A pencil moved from its position was nothing odd. I was jumping to conclusions, but what conclusions? My mind was a mush of thoughts and tiredness. Yet my beast rose to the fore, perhaps sensing my tension. Even my fangs descended. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Why?
“Kristin? What’s wrong?” Nathan put a hand on my shoulder. “Why are you so upset? Listen, I’m sorry if I’ve moved the pencil. I’m not sure it was me, but please don’t be mad.”
I went to pat his hand, to tell him that I was fine, but one of my claws scratched his skin. He hissed and withdrew his hands, a few drops of blood trickling down his wrist.
“Ouch.” He pressed the cut.
“Drat, I’m sorry, Nathan.” My chest rose and fell in quick pants. I forced the beast down. What the heck was wrong with her?
“It’s nothing.” He patted the cut with a handkerchief. “Only a scratch.”
A headache pounded in my head. “I’m so tired that my hands are clumsy.”
“And you’re making strange assumptions about a stupid pencil.”
Said like that, it sounded crazy. “Just thought the pencil has been moved to reach the phone. How silly of me.” I chuckled. “But you didn’t use the bloody phone, did you?”