"You aren't concerned, Dawmas? Letting an auditor here to take stock of the place?" Maron asked, placing a hand on the quaff cellar's pantry access.
"And what? Loose my job?" the bronzed guard snickered. "I've been set to go to Feldmas next turnaround."
"The front lines?" Maron inquired, knowing the answer anyhow. It had been a death sentence, and the guard, Dawmas, knew it as well as he. "When?"
"The ship is in the harbor now, sir."
"You don't strike me as infrantry, Dawmas."
"My knee would agree with you." He sat next to him with a sigh, and grimaced a bit at his own verbal reminder. "Eight years at sea proved that."
"Then why Feldmas?"
Dawmas paused. "You know those guests of Director Lohta, I mentioned?"
Maron paused at the hazard of response, unsure of whether or not he wanted to hear the reason. They were in Greenward. The place the hardest detractors of the State went when no other punishment seemed proper enough. And Dawmas was a guard here. Why wouldn't Lohta have just put him to task at the bellows or pouring the iron? It seemed well within Lohta's authority, and Directors like him needed little reason to do or not do much of anything outside their will. Especially with the war efforts faring so poorly. Maron's cogitation provided the answer soon enough, though. Dawmas was a guard. Guard's know things about Greenward. Paths to other places. Dawmas would be better served dead for Lohta's concerns. But what crime could possibly...
"I took one of them for myself and he was none too happy about it."
The blonde administrator pushed back his hair with an unsteady hand and the image of his deaf girl being ravaged by Lohta invaded his brain. He rubbed his palms into his eyes and turned to the guard, his visage distorted. Understandably, Dawmas felt he was the target.
"Whoah, there! It wasn't like that. All I did was ask and she offered!" Dawmas shifted uncomfortably and made ready to move. "Hey, this won't affect the audit, will it?"