“Good morning, Sergeant,” I greeted him when he just stared at me.

“You want something?”

I controled my disdain of his sloppy manners. “Yes, Sergeant. I’d like to meet with Colonel Haren.”

“Oh. He’s in there.” He tilted his head toward the single door behind him.

“I see. May I go in?”

“Maybe. Try knocking. If he’s not busy, he’ll answer.”

“Very well. Thank you, Sergeant.”

“Yeah.”

He took up his sock and bent over his work again. I tugged my shirt as straight as it would go, crossed the room, and rapped sharply at the door.

“Come in. Is my sock mended yet?”

I opened the door to a dim room, lit by the fire in an open hearth in the corner. A wave of heat rolled out to greet me as I opened the door. I stood a moment, letting my eyes adjust.

“Well, come in, man! Don’t stand there letting the cold get in. Sergeant! Is my sock mended yet?”

The sergeant called the answer over his shoulder. “I’m working on it!”

“Very well.” He answered as if the delay were anything but “very well.”

Then he transferred his gaze to me and said irritably, “Come in, I said, and close the door.”

I did as he bade me. The room confounded me. It was dimly lit and stuffy with heat. I felt as if in one stride, I’d covered hundreds of miles and was back west in Old Thares. Fine carpets covered the floors, and tapestries hid the planks of the wall. An immense desk of polished wood dominated the center of the room. Oak bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes lined one entire wall, floor to ceiling. A marble pedestal supported a statue of a maiden with a basket of flowers. Even the ceiling had been covered with plates of hammered tin. The shock of contrast between this inner sanctuary and the rough building that housed it nearly made me forget why I was there.

The reason for his query about the sock was abundantly clear. One of his feet was bare. The other wore a dark sock and a lambskin slipper. I could see the cuffs of his cavalla trousers. Over them he wore an elaborate silk smoking jacket, belted with a tasseled length of the same fabric. The silk skullcap on his head also had a tassel. He was a pale, bony man, taller than me, with long feet and hands. What hair he had was blond, but his magnificent mustache looked rusty. The ends of it were waxed to points.

He looked like a caricature of a country gentlemen rather than the commander of the king’s last outpost. There was a well-cushioned chair with a footstool before the fire. Colonel Haren ensconced himself there and then demanded of me, “What do you want, then?” “I wished to speak to you, sir.” I kept my tone extremely civil despite his brusqueness.

“Well, you are. State your master’s business and be quick about it. I’ve other things to do today.”