"...and the castle’s poltergeist has been up to more mischief, sir. The cook reported three more pots smashed and that he’s missing several more spoons.”
“So I noticed,” Commander Hale growled. Her new aide bowed his shaved head apologetically, tensing, but the volatile officer didn’t touch her sword this time.
“He — the ghost — is a remnant from the old 21st if I understand it correctly,” Stalwart continued hesitantly. “I’m sorry, it should’ve been part of your preliminary report when you took the helm here, but the sergeant who wrote it filled it with rantings about Althrasia and the Obelisk, and, well, you know how it is with the locals and their religious traditions. I saw it necessary to rewrite it, sir.”
“As if old gods could ever be more important than the Mogul’s law,” muttered Hale sarcastically. “You should know better than to omit information from the reports of your betters, but in this case, I’ll give it a pass. The less cracknut rants I have to trawl through, the better.”
She crossed over to the large stone desk taking up half of her new office. It was polished smooth, variegated grays and grains of other colors forming abstract patterns across its surface. She circled it, caressing it fondly. It had belonged to a general of Old Freeport, before the Mogul’s rule, and despite their differing allegiances, it was a desk surely fit for her station now, too. She reached the large window overlooking the desk of which she was so proud and turned, tugging out the desk’s chair with a foot and sitting down.
Or she tried to sit down. The chair was further away than she thought. Her aide jumped as she crashed to floor.
Commander Hale leapt to her feet with warrior grace. “Captain! That is enough!” Her voice echoed in the office, but the ghost didn’t answer. Perhaps it only had been her mistake this time. Hale rounded on Stalwart anyway. “I want that creature removed, and no more excuses! I don’t care what honors he earned when he was alive; he is now no more than a pest!”
