Kelvin flipped to the next page in his report. The project was coming under budget, which was nice, since funds had gotten tighter. It was odd, since Sir Owen had been making repair requests once a week. Annoying as he was, he was at least predictable with his paperwork. It almost made Harold Kelvin want to brave Sir Owen's reports to see how much he'd requested.

The door to his office burst open. "Harold! We've got him," Hershel announced cheerfully as he strode in, throwing the door closed behind him.

Annoyed by the sudden interruption, Kelvin set his pen down to give Pinker Hershel his full attention. "Got who?"

"That mudrat," Hershel tossed himself onto Kelvin's couch, grinning ear to ear. "He's admitted that the barracks is disgusting. We can have it inspected, and when it doesn't pass, have him stripped of his commission for dereliction of duty. Or at least demoted."

Kelvin dropped his gaze to the papers in front of him. Much as he despised having a Hannish man as Barracks Captain, Owen did have his uses.

"Oh, come now! Davis would be much easier to cow. That mudrat doesn't know his place and has always managed to get the last word in, no matter what we did to him!"

That at least was true.

"What exactly did he say?"

"He said they've got fleas. There's mold everywhere. They don't use soap." Hershel counted off his fingers. "I know all of that was probably exaggeration, but send Salvage in. He'll find something." Hershel turned, lounging sideways on the couch, his ankles crossed on the arm as he propped his head up on the other.

Kelvin nodded.

"Oh, and he upset Blanch and Sir Cross. She's got her panties in a twist about the whole thing. Sir Cross was annoyed by that joke they called morning training."

"What were they doing?"

"Laps around their pathetic little training yard," Hershel said. He suddenly swung his feet to the floor, sitting up. "Before you discharge him, can we beat him? You said I could last time, but it started raining."

"Sure," Kelvin said. It wasn't like giving Hershel that would cost anything. "Get Salvage in here."

Hershel jumped to his feet with a grin and salute. Sometimes he remembered to treat Kelvin like the Knight Commander he was. He took a lot of liberties with their relationship just because their fathers were associates.

Thankfully, Hershel closed the door more softly on his way out.

Sitting back in his seat, Kelvin rubbed his eyes, then stood to look out the window at the northern garden. Several Hans were working in the flowerbeds. It was midspring, and Blessing Day dinner would be that evening. The Crown Competition would be announced officially. Kelvin's lip curled at the thought. Elliot Harthford was a spoiled brat, just like his father, but everyone would be forced to pretend that he was in control of the Aristocrats.

"What a joke," he muttered.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Turning, Kelvin called, "Come in."

Sir Salvage entered with a salute. Hershel had apparently not kept his mouth shut about what the summons was for. Salvage was grinning.

"You're to inspect the Western Barracks. Write Owen up for everything. Leave nothing unscrutinized."

The knight, a man who should have retired years ago, grinned even more broadly. "Thank you, Commander. You couldn't have made my day better."

Kelvin snorted in amusement. "Have your report by the end of the day."

Salvage saluted again and left, closing the door behind him.

Kelvin stretched his arms over his head, groaning. He'd reviewed the budget for the project Duke Cross had assigned, but now he needed to do Eastern Barracks work.

**

Furious, Alex Cross stalked through Vice-Commander Fisk's anteroom, passing his aide to knock on the door. Brian, Fisk's aide, looked up from the book he was struggling to read to scowl at the interruption. Cross couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Come on," Fisk called.

Alex Cross closed the door behind him to block Brian from overhearing. Coming to stand in front of Fisk, he saluted. "I've come to make a complaint against Barracks Captain Owen."

Fisk had been in the middle of reviewing reports for the Eastern Barracks training regiment. Alex already knew that the reports weren't good. Most of the knights were overweight, slow, and could barely lift their swords. That was why he'd gone to visit the Western Barracks with Blanch. However, he'd not been impressed with their training either.

"Well?" Fisk asked, lacing his fingers, resting his hands on his stacked papers.

"This morning, I went with Blanch and Sir Hershel to inspect the Western Barracks training regiment. Not only was their attempt at training laughable, but they were incredibly rude. Especially Owen."

Fisk shifted his head slightly, eyes partially lidded in a bored look.

"Owen insulted Blanch by saying she wasn't fit to be a knight. Then he kicked us out of the training yard," Alex Cross said. "I'd like him flogged."

Fisk's stony expression didn't change, but he did begin petting his mustache. "That's out of character."

"What?" Alex sputtered. "What do you mean? Owen is always rude."

"Not usually to women," Fisk said, turning his attention back to Alex. He considered the younger man for a few more silent, unnerving moments before he said, "Dismissed."

Alex scowled but saluted before leaving Fisk's office. He didn't like that answer. However, Fisk had never been easy to read. It may not have meant that he was defending Owen, even though it sounded like he was on the surface. Alex had chosen to go to Fisk about it since he knew Hershel had already gone to Kelvin about the incident. Hershel practically lived in Kelvin's ass crack, after all. He had far too much authority for what little he did. One day, he would take Hershel down a peg, but that wouldn't be today. Today, he was going to take out that mudrat.

**

Fisk stroked his mustache, thoroughly distracted from the reports he was supposed to be reviewing. He'd not been very interested in them to begin with. It was just an account of the Barracks Captain's failure to impose order on the second and third sons of the high nobles.

He'd hoped that Cross might have something better to report than a complaint about Barracks Captain Owen. Fisk already knew Cross had lied. There was no way Sir Owen had said any of that to Sir Blanch. It all sounded more like something Sir Hershel would say, and he'd already heard Hershel bragging to Brian about something, so he knew Hershel had been involved in the incident.

Going to his door, he opened it. "Brian. Call Sir Blanch here."

Brian scowled, slammed his book down, and left. Fisk sighed. He knew Brian hadn't wanted to be a knight, but his father wouldn't let him be a scholar. At least as an Eastern Barracks knight, he had free access to the library.

Stepping out of his office, Fisk decided to look at what Brian had been working on.

An Ingvanic text that was so old, the ink on the pages had faded. Judging by his notes, Brian was attempting to transcribe what it used to say. Perhaps it was valuable work...

No. It isn't, Fisk realized when he started reading the notes. It was a lewd novel. Fisk refrained from throwing it away and instead returned to his office, stroking his mustache in an effort to forget the translated paragraph.

Sitting at his desk, he tried to pay attention to the reports he needed to sign. They really were abysmal. Only a handful of the men in Eastern Barracks could pass basic physical examinations. Not that failing had any consequences. He honestly hated that there was nothing he could do about it either.

Hours passed.

Fisk nearly forgot that he'd called for Blanch.

He looked up when a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Come in."

Blanch stepped in and saluted. "Vice-Commander."

Fisk set his pen down. He'd been composing a report for Kelvin about the concerning lack of discipline in the Eastern Barracks. "I had a few questions concerning your visit to the Western Barracks this morning."

Blanch frowned slightly as she came to stand in front of Fisk's desk. She was one of Alex Cross' students. He likely only taught her because he found it amusing and perhaps hoped to get her in bed. "I went to see their training regimen, Sir. The training at Eastern Barracks isn't challenging."

Nodding, Fisk laced his fingers on his desk. "Did Sir Owen insult you?"

"No, Sir. He made remarks about the uncleanliness of the Western Barracks."

"Sir Owen did not say that women shouldn't be knights?" Fisk asked, making sure.

"No, Sir. That was Sir Hershel," Blanch looked irritated at the reminder.

He nodded again. "You wanted to watch the Western Barracks morning training?"

"Yes, Sir. However, Sirs Cross and Hershel found out where I was going and followed. It was clear I would not be able to see anything of use, so I left."

"I'll speak with Sir Owen about allowing you to observe."

"Thank you, Sir."

"What do you hope to gain from this?" Fisk asked.

Blanch frowned. "I had heard recently that Sir Owen used to be part of the Hunters' Guild and had earned an animal name."

Brows lifting, Fisk sat back in his chair. "Is that so? What name?"

"Fish, Sir. Supposedly because he always gets away," Blanch said.