Newcomer: Day 8

Word Count: 48,040

Summary of Events:

On Saturday Kristiāns' leg was feeling quite sore, so Miķelis took him to the infirmary to be given some painkillers and to rest before heading to his tent for a moment before supper. In the way of the door were two new arrivals arguing with an officer, as they didn't want to stay in separate tents. Miķelis asked a few questions in hopes of resolving the conflict, and revealed that the new arrivals were supposed to stay in neighbouring tents. Having been unaware of this, the new arrivals were embarrassed, which made things awkward for Miķelis, as one of the new arrivals was supposed to be occupying the fourth and final cot in his tent, but Miķelis hoped to apologise. Come Monday morning Miķelis was up as early as usual, which seemed to annoy his tent-mate, especially when he explained that he was already awake because he spent time in prayer in the mornings, preferring early hours over late hours, which was the only other time he had free…

Excerpt of the Day:

“Hm,” Mārtiņš said indignantly. “Maybe you should manage your time better.”

“I have no problems in the management of my time, thank you,” Miķelis replied, letting a small measure of sternness edge his voice. “There simply isn’t enough time from the wake-up call to inspection for anyone to engage in prayer unless their prayer should be little more than ‘dear God, Amen’.”

Mārtiņš again uttered an indignant sound, but made no comment.

Miķelis expected Mārtiņš to get up out of bed with a bit more speed and even urgency, but Mārtiņš remained laying in bed. Miķelis wasn’t sure if he was just not wanting to get up and get cold before putting his clothes on, or if he was still meaning to do some devotions in bed.

“I mean what I’ve said,” Miķelis said. “There isn’t time to dally when the bugle is sounded. Everything needs to be in readiness for inspection quickly.”

“Sst!” Mārtiņš hissed.

Miķelis bit his lower lip, covering it over with his upper lip, and looked at Genādijs’ empty cot. Miķelis had made both his and Kristiāns’ cots neatly the evening of the day they’d gone to the infirmary, and they’d remained untouched, neat, and tidy since then.

He glanced over at Mārtiņš occasionally, hoping to see that he’d gotten up and started getting dressed, but even as Miķelis saw the glow of the inspecting officer’s lantern starting to shine through the tent canvas, Mārtiņš remained under his covers, his eyes closed, his voice quietly whispering, and his covers high on his chest moving, indicating that his hands were fingering the beads that he — and all others who adhered to the belief — used to count how many times they’d repeated their prayers.

Finally the tent flap lifted and the inspecting officer, gripping his lantern in a mitten-clad hand, stepped inside. Miķelis’ hands felt colder at the sight of the leather mittens that looked like they were thick with wool within, as they made the officer’s hands look like large brown eggs on the ends of his hands.

He hung his lantern on the centre post of the tent and removed his mittens to allow him to fetch out his book and pencil to note down his report.

“Pass, absent, absent, and fail,” the officer said, pointing at each cot with his pencil once he’d finished.

“How dare you fail me!” Mārtiņš snapped. “I didn’t have time to get ready with how quickly you came along.”

“I’m quite sure you aren’t of the Royal House, or even a noble one, boy,” the officer replied, pocketing his book and pencil. “But even if you are, this is the army, and the army has no place for sluggards. You will be ready for inspection, or you will fail it, be you prince or pauper.”

Taking up his lantern, he left the tent. Miķelis looked at Mārtiņš, whose face was contorted with sore indignation, making it clear that he was by no means appreciative of the fact that he’d been so chided.

Pronunciation:

Mārtiņš: mahrtihnsh