Imperial Projects

Punch, Peridiscus

Between the looming northern wall of the fortress and the southernmost fringe of the forest, a broad, circular swathe of dirt cuts a startling hole in the disheveled grass of the plain. It looks freshly made, and bevy of workers--rats, mostly, and mostly in chains--supports that conjecture. Their tasks are various, but the sum of their labor is a growing stone structure, still anonymous, in the center of the cleared dirt. Cross-legged on an improvised chair of stones and logs sits Punch, quill in hand and bent over a parchment in his lap. A gentle wind rattles its edges.

Peridiscus ambles through the tree with a slow, lazy gait, his eyes trained on the ground as he hums a tune softly to himself, his back hunched over in a slouch. His path hugs the walls of the fortress mostly, though he seems to be paying little attention to his surroundings. Occasionally, the polecat stops to kick a stone somewhere or turn one over with his boots. Soon it becomes clear that his trajectory intersects with that of a couple of rats carrying a heavy looking timber to the construction site, themselves preoccupied with their load. As Peridiscus is about to crash into the forward rat, the trio suddenly notice each other at around the same moment. "Watch where yer goin', stupid!" The rat belts out roughly, and Peridiscus backs up with a hasty, embarrassed apology, watching them as they continue off toward the nearby site.

Accustomed as he is to such bickering among the workers, Punch does not look up immediately from his work. Perhaps he would not look up at all, but while quarrels are common, apologies always warrant a glance. Seeing Peridiscus, he dons an unusual hybrid expression of diffidence and relief and rises. "Er, er, I see you've f-found th-the bathhouse," he calls. "S-sad to say i-it isn't yet op-operational." He manages a lukewarm smile and delivers the polecat a shallow bow.

Peridiscus blinks in surprise upon noticing Punch, but quickly manages a nod of greeting, though his ears are reddening slightly in a delayed reaction to his earlier blunder. "Oh, excellent. I suppose this must be the new Imperial project?" The polecat rubs his neck while mustering his social graces, trying to hide his chagrin at having to unexpectedly socialize with a smile.

"Q-quite so," Punch responds. "One am-mong s-several." He makes a small show of his exasperation at the notion, then shrugs. He moves one of the stones from his ad hoc chair onto the parchment his was holding, securing it from the sticky fingers of the wind, and approaches Peridiscus. "Yes," he says thoughtfully. "M-mustn't let, er, l-let diff-ficult times stop us," he says with a hint of irony, then fixes an eye on the young Knothill.

Peridiscus only allows his smile to broaden a little ambiguously and says nothing else in response to Punch's recital of the party line. Imperial projects were silly as the rat seems to realize, but it was probably unwise to display political sentiments in front of? not strangers, but persons he has no reason to trust. Instead, the polecat moves closer and cranes his head to look at the parchments Punch was holding. "Are these the plans?"

Punch pulls the parchment from under the stone, then pulls a small sheaf of similar documents from behind the chair. "S-some are, yes." He stabs at the top sheet. "F-for the bathhouse, see?" The long fingernail of his forefinger recapitulates the clean lines already laid out there. "This i-is m-my work. But s-some of them..." He shuffles the leaves so that another one is on top and sweeps a paw over the cryptic hodgepodge thereupon. "Lef-left by my pr-predecessor," he says in lieu of real explanation.

Peridiscus asks, "What kind of buildings did your predecessor design?"

Punch looks up. "Er," he says and eyes Peridiscus strangely. "Wh-whatever the king n-needed done, of course."

"Oh..." Peridiscus grins. Okay, that attempt at making conversation failed. "How is the work progressing?"

Punch looks back at the papers, as if dipping into a reservoir of calm within them. "Not well," he says in a voice not much above a whisper. "I don't im-imagine you go to the village m-much, but if you have r-recently, you've seen wh-where we got the st-stone for the bathhouse." He runs the back of his free paw along the underside of his jaw. "A-and the d-docks are in ill repair."

Peridiscus's brow wrinkles in concern. This is getting a little beyond idle chatter. Things must be serious if Punch is willing to go so far in his, well, implicit criticism. The young hob frowns in sympathy for Punch's predicament. "Yes, I can imagine the, err, difficulties." He purses his lips and scans the rat laborers casually. None of them seem to be paying attention to the conversation.

Punch shifts awkwardly. "Better if I s-say no more." He returns the plan of the current building project to the top of the pile and retakes his seat.

Peridiscus seems about to ask something else but decides against it. "I will take my leave then, sir. Best of luck with your duties here," he says with a slight bow.

"Fare well," Punch says, waving. Just as he turns back to his work, a pair of workers approaches him, and he is drawn into conversation with them. He breaks away just long enough to call to the departing polecat: "Tell S-Saxifrage... T-tell her..." He thinks. "Just say hi f-for me."

Peridiscus turns to give Punch a grin and a nod before walking off along the fortress walls.