Chapter 38: Old Habits.

Chapter 38: Chapter 38: Old Habits.

Then again, perhaps not.

But he put that to the back of his mind, because there were more pressing issues at hand.

"Anyway, hand over one of those cakes. I know you’re smuggling them up for Khobi."

"What cakes?" Oh, how a little Sun had gotten that line down to a fine art –the perfect mix of angelic innocence and indignation at being accused.

"Binny," he snorted flatly, "That shit didn’t fly fifteen years ago, and it damn well isn’t flying now."

Well, that wasn’t necessarily true, but he was hoping that Binny didn’t remember that.

But, unfortunately for him, there was a wicked little glint in those sharp grey eyes that told him he was flat out of luck. So what if maybe he’d had a bit of a weak spot for a couple of the kids? Was it so bad that he’d felt guilty for making them cry??

"Oh come on, I’m not gonna rat you out," he promised hurriedly, before the sneaky little rat could dob him in and ruin the tough image he’d been working so hard on maintaining, "I just want one. Or a couple. Khobi doesn’t need them all."

"Binny, I thought we’d talked this –"

"Hey, I won those cakes fair and fuckin’ square," Montrel sniffed at Albi before jabbing a finger down at the servant looking up at him with visible scepticism. " –And he’s not gonna even know that there’s one missing!"

Albi liked to think that he was above the melodrama that his fellows seemed unable to resist incorporating into their everyday lives, but even he had to admit that the sigh he heaved in that moment was of a rather...theatrical nature.

"Just give him one," he advised wearily, palm pressed to his face both to try and keep his sanity intact and so he could deny having ever been witness to the exchange of stolen goods, "We don’t want any trouble, and believe me; it will be so much easier in the long run."

"Really?" Binny didn’t sound like he believed him in the slightest, but he (albeit reluctantly) pulled a sweet treat out from the confines of his bundle and held it out to Montrel, "...So he’s not gonna make me his personal cake thief?"

"Thought hadn’t even crossed my mind," Montrel smirked, mouth full of cake almost as soon as it was in his hand.

The servant’s shoulders slumped at his words and there came that guilt again, rearing its ugly head. With a roll of his eyes and a playful slap on the back he added, "Hey, hey, don’t make that face, I’m just playing with you. I’m not a monster, jeez."

He jammed the rest of his cake into his mouth and licked the frosting off his fingers with a contented hum. "Don’t worry, you’re not gonna get in trouble or anything, right, Albi?"

"I saw nothing."

"That’s the spirit."

For a moment there, Binny just lingered in their midst, bundle tucked protectively against his side as though he wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened.

Montrel, sugar messily dusting the corners of his mouth, gave him a reassuring grin and a conspiratorial wink.

By the look on the servant’s face, he hadn’t quite had the desired effect.

"Well," he remarked, the pleasantness in his expression somewhat forced –nervous, even, like he didn’t believe that the pair of guards weren’t going to tell on him. "I...I shouldn’t be talking to you..."

"It’s fine, isn’t it?" Montrel scoffed, rolling his eyes, "For old times’ sake?"

"...I..." Binny seemed like he wanted to say something, but bit his tongue as if to chastise it for running so freely for so long already.

"I could get in trouble," he eventually muttered, and the way he dipped his head might have been respectful if his eyes hadn’t been glinting bright out from under his bangs, "...So, if you’ll excuse me, sirs..."

"Montrel," Montrel felt the need to correct, plonking himself back into his seat with a light huff. Both Albi and Binny looked at him like he’d sprouted another head.

He glared back combatively, like he’d done nothing odd, reasoning, with a wrinkle of his nose, "It’s my name, isn’t it? Feel free to use it. Just...feels weird having a brat I used to babysit calling me sir."

He gestured for Binny to venture upstairs at his leisure. "Good to see you, Binny," he added, equal parts cordial and nostalgic.

And even if their days as children were long over, he couldn’t help but raise his voice teasingly as the servant disappeared beyond the doorway and into the stairwell, "Glad to see you’ve grown up to be such a fine pastry thief."

For a second there, it seemed like he’d gotten the last word in, but a moment later, almost as an afterthought, a dark head appeared at the edge of the doorway once more, a soft smirk gracing the young man’s features --like he knew he was overstepping, but just couldn’t help himself.

"What can I say?" he snickered, mimicking the playfulness of Montrel’s taunt, "...Old habits die hard, Old man Trelly."

"Okay, what the fuck did you just call me?" Montrel roared, bounding to his feet and hissing as his blisters cried, but the servant had already vanished up into the stairwell like a wisp of smoke.

"I told you brats not to... Ohhhhhh, I’m gonna throttle him..." he muttered mutinously as he hobbled over to grab his boots, unaware of the eyes watching him rather incredulously until he turned around and found Albi staring at him.

"What?" he huffed crossly.

"Old Man Trelly?," Albi echoed, sounding perhaps more perplexed than Montrel had ever heard him sound before in his life.

"Don’t you start," Montrel warned flatly, snorting out hot air and glancing away from his friend, "...Some of the...some of the little monsters I babysat had a nick....they liked to call me that, okay?" he explained lamely.

"...You let them escape if they snuck you cakes, didn’t you?" Albi accused dryly.

"Oh come on, I was pretty much a kid too!" Montrel defended, folding his arms across his chest, "They were just so good at stealin’ em! And my ma wouldn’t let me have extra after supper, and c’mon Albi, have you seen kids when they’re about to cry? Damn near breaks your heart! What was I supposed to do?"

Here came those theatrics again. Albi dragged a hand down his face and refused to acknowledge the fact that his friend was pouting.

"I have somewhere else to be," he announced abruptly, because that was quite enough of this sort of nonsense of the meantime –even if the training grounds were bound to be packed to bursting with adolescents with the same tendency for dramatics.

"I’m meant to be supervising down at the training grounds, so...I’ll be going. Send Yaka down too, if you see him. We have some new horses to break in."

"New horses?" Montrel’s ears pricked up and his expression brightened noticeably, "Why didn’t anyone tell me? I could –"

"You are on guard duty," Albi reminded him, deadpan. "...Supposedly."

"Aw, come on Albi," he grumbled, "Guarding what?" he gestured towards the stairwell dismissively, "You know this is a waste of time. No one escapes from the tower. And he’s been behaving himself, right, Hasbar?" he added, hollering out to his fellow guard.

"Not a squeak," Hasbar affirmed.

"In days," added, for emphasis, "This is boring, Albi. Is this Bongo punishing us?"

"Probably."

" –Coz it sure feels like...oh. Right."

"Hey, maybe we should just let Khobi loose on the training grounds," Hasbar piped up, sticking his head around the doorway with a grin and getting two dry glares in return. "What? The newbies are gonna cry anyway, so they might as well get it over with. And the big guy would probably love to beat the crap out of some baby soldiers."

"...I hate to agree with Bongo, but he’s got a point," Montrel admitted.

" –And let’s face it, chasing Khobi down has really done wonders for Montrel’s fitness –"

"I’m gonna cram those peanuts of yours down your –"

"Montrel," Albisighed, before the insults could get too colourful.

" –The new kids could really use the cardio –"

"You too, Hasbar. Enough."

Gods, where did these two get off on calling the newer recruits kids when they acted like children themselves? The captains had to have endless patience to deal with a whole army of men like this.

Well, patience was Bongo’s thing. As for the Second...

Drogger Noog was a man of many virtues, but endless patience was not one of them.

Albi was just about to declare himself done with the situation, when movement in the doorway at the base of the staircase caught his eye.

"Hmm....sorry to interrupt," the servant –Binny, it seemed –remarked, noticeably more pleasantly than when he’d departed, and not sounding all that sorry at all as he leaned in through the doorway. In fact, if anything, there was a quirk to the edge of his lips, and amusement glittered in his grey eyes.

"You’re not interrupting," Montrel assured him with a glare over at Hasbar to keep his trap shut.

"Just thought you might like to know," he tittered, and the words that had the ability to ruin any guard’s day spilled past his lips.

"Khobi’s not in his room."