Realizing that he had been daydreaming again, Kre touched his eyes with the back of his hand just to ensure that there were no stray tears from his jog down the sad memory lane of self-pity. Satisfied that he was presentable once again, he took a deep calming breath, tripped the latch, and pushed the door, eager to step out and start a new chapter in his life.
The resounding thud and the fast-swelling bruise on his forehead quickly reminded Kre that the door was an inward swinging one. He rubbed at his sore nose and was thankful that Syonette was no longer there to have seen his act of extreme stupidity. He cursed softly and slowly pulled on the door, letting the sunlight spill across the room and causing him to avert his eyes from the unwelcome brightness.
“As clumsy as you are, walking into doors like that, you should have simply testified that the deaths were accidental and heavens know we would have believed it.”
Repeating his curse under his breath, Kre narrowed his eyes at the sharp-nosed little man sitting up on the wagon’s bench. “Good morning to you too Master Osser,” he proclaimed in a slightly derisive voice.
Braun snorted. “A good morning would have been if we left three hours ago, when the sun first came up.” He took out a sheaf of papers from the bag at his side and started to scribble a note on the top page. “… has immediately violated… spirit and intent… covenant…” he muttered as he wrote.
“What do you mean by violated?”
“You swore to conduct yourself with all haste to the Citadel. This sleeping in all morning long of yours is nothing if not a delay.”
“I believe the covenant as sworn started with ‘will travel with all haste’,” came another voice from nearby. When Kre looked he spotted Lowil Marxin sitting off to the side, resting against the wall of the Lodge. His teacher pushed himself up to his feet and smiled at the young man. “Since the town has not yet released Kre, officially at least, to travel status he cannot be held liable for not departing in all haste.”
Braun’s nose twitched noticeably. “He’s still in violation of the fourth covenant.”
Kre couldn’t even remember the fourth covenant that he swore. The last few days were still blurring together in his head. Lowil seemed to sense that and gave the boy a short nod, as if acknowledging that gap in Kre’s memory.
“Such a practice is outdated and ridiculous. Even so, did you expect the boy to knit his own cloak? He cannot wear that which you have not yet provided.”
Instead of being upset, Braun simply reached back into the bed of the wagon behind him and grabbed a dingy bundle of burnt orange colored cloth. He threw the bundle at Kre unceremoniously and waved his hand at the boy. “Get out of that overly flashy cloak and put that on instead.”
“This is a disgusting color,” Kre remarked as he unfurled the cloak. A cloud of dust scattered itself in the air around him as he did so and sent him into a fit of coughs.
“Just put it on and we can be on our way,” snarled the Magistrate. “Any more delay and I will mark you as negligent, no matter what double-speak your teacher tries.”
Lowil was already at Kre’s side and he took the ugly orange monstrosity from Kre’s hands while the boy unclasped the fine cloak he was already wearing. He rolled it up tightly and wondered at where to put it while Lowil placed the other cloak, the so-called symbol of shame, over his shoulders.
“I’ll take that,” the professor offered kindly. He took the bundle and placed it on the back of the wagon. Meanwhile, Kre slid the cloak’s chain through the odd hooking mechanism and pulled it tight.
Watching Kre try to readjust the tightness of the chain around his neck Braun laughed, “It locks in place. That’s part of the fun of that particular penance. It can’t be removed except by a special key.”
“I’m sorry son,” Lowil sighed. “I should have warned you about that. The cloak of shame is a barbaric tool used to discipline folks back in the older days. It was meant to never be removed except by a government official.”
“Couldn’t they have picked a better color or material at least?”
Lowil smiled, “It wouldn’t be as useful as a punishment if it were stylish. There isn’t a soul alive that thinks that burnt orange color is anything but grotesque, so folks were always supposed to be able to spot suspected criminals even from a great distance and pick them out easily in the crowd.”