Chapter 107: The Watcher’s office

The Third Office of the Quartermastery did not change very much.

That was mostly because Encrid had no intention of moving.

The Council had allocated him an office, but there was little reason to waste time finding another room when the one he already occupied was perfectly suitable.

So the ledgers were moved.

The supply records, requisition books, old inventories, and stacks of paperwork that had once belonged to the Third Office were distributed among the other offices of the Quartermastery. Vess complained about the loss of space, the disruption to his clerks, and the fact that Encrid had somehow managed to acquire an office without actually leaving his old one.

The room was then officially renamed the Chief Strategist’s Office.

But nobody called it that.

The first time a runner came looking for the Chief Strategist’s Office, he stood in the corridor for several minutes before asking a passing clerk where it was.

"The Watcher’s office?"

The clerk pointed.

"Ah."

After that, the matter was settled.

The name spread quickly.

Watcher.

It was what people on the Wall called Encrid now.

It had started as Merta’s joke and had somehow become a title of its own. Soldiers used it. Clerks used it. Even officers who disliked the name had begun using it because correcting someone every time became more troublesome than simply accepting it.

Encrid did not particularly care.

He had more important things to do.

For the first time since arriving at the Wall, he had enough freedom to begin preparing properly.

His first task was people.

He needed capable hands.

Not soldiers who could swing a sword well, though there was nothing wrong with having those around him. He needed people who could read reports, keep records, notice inconsistencies, carry information quickly, and, most importantly, understand that a piece of information was sometimes more valuable than an order.

Merta was the first person he pulled into the new office.

Steward Vess was not pleased.

"You are taking my best clerk."

"I am borrowing your best clerk."

"You have an office now. You need your own people."

"That is what I am doing."

Vess folded his arms.

"You could take one of the less useful ones."

"I could."

"Then why are you taking Merta?"

"Because she is useful."

Vess stared at him.

Encrid stared back.

After several seconds, Vess sighed.

"You are becoming troublesome."

Encrid just smiled at that.

Merta, who had been standing behind Encrid, tried not to smile.

She became the first official member of the Watcher’s office.

After her came others.

Encrid selected one capable man from the First Watch, another from the Second, and others from the remaining Watches. Some were good with numbers. Some had excellent memories. Some were experienced runners.

Encrid deliberately left the levy men alone.

There were plenty of men among the former bandits who could have been useful. Some were sharp, practical, and far more observant than their current duties suggested.

But Encrid needed them where they were.

The Wall was too large.

Information did not move through a single office. It moved through kitchens, barracks, watch posts, repair crews, patrols, supply wagons, and men standing beside gates waiting for their shift to end.

He needed eyes everywhere.

If he pulled every useful person into his office, he would only blind himself.

So the levy men stayed where they were.

Instead, Encrid quietly established a network.

Nothing formal.

Nothing that would attract attention.

A man in the Seventh Watch might mention something to one of his people. A clerk in the Quartermastery might send him a note. A runner might stop by the Watcher’s office at the end of his shift and mention that three patrols had reported hearing something unusual beyond the eastern ridge.

Small things.

Individually, most were worthless.

Together, they might become a pattern.

And Encrid was looking for patterns.

He spent his mornings going through reports.

His afternoons were divided between his new staff and the Quartermastery records he still needed to understand.

His evenings were spent thinking about the Council.

There were proposals he wanted to make.

Improvements to the Wall’s supply system.

Changes to the way patrol reports were collected.

Better communication between the Watches.

Emergency stores.

Evacuation routes.

The bridge.

He needed to know exactly what could be done before the horde arrived.

More importantly, he needed to know what the Council would refuse.

There was no point presenting ten excellent proposals if the first two were enough to make the Council distrust everything that followed.

So Encrid made lists.

Then he made lists of the lists.

Merta eventually found him sitting at his desk one evening with six sheets of paper spread before him.

"What are those?"

"Proposals."

"Six?"

"Twenty-three."

She stared at him.

"Why are there only six sheets?"

"I have grouped them."

"Of course you have."

Encrid ignored her.

He was beginning to think he needed another week before he could present anything.

But right then an emergency message arrived at the Watcher’s office.

The Council had been summoned immediately.

Encrid looked at the notice for several seconds.

It had been eleven days since he had gained his seat.

He had spent those days preparing for a threat the Council had not yet agreed was real.

Now they were calling an emergency session.

He left his office without finishing his thoughts.

By the time Encrid reached the Council chamber, most of the members were already there.

The atmosphere was different from the first time.

There was no argument.

No formal agenda had been announced.

No one was waiting with prepared papers.

Instead, the room was quiet.

Too quiet.

Encrid entered and immediately noticed the stretcher.

It had been placed near the far side of the chamber.

A man lay on it.

He was covered in bandages.

Not the neat kind used for ordinary wounds.

These were wrapped around his chest, shoulder, one leg, and most of his left arm or what was left of it. His face was pale beneath the dirt. His breathing was shallow.

Encrid stopped.

He knew that face.

It took him only a moment to notice as he had seen the face in Healer’s hall before.

Ansel Corr.

The Far Watch scout captain.

The man who had gone into the Great Green Forest with five others.

The man who had disappeared for weeks and had finally returned alone.

Encrid had been waiting for him.

Because Ansel Corr was the only living man on the Wall who had seen what was coming.

Encrid looked around the room.

Lord Commander Vance was already seated.

Kass stood near the stretcher, his expression harder than Encrid had ever seen it.

Ysolde was silent.

Even Dane had abandoned his usual posture of controlled skepticism.

Then Ansel’s eyes opened.

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